


Bag Of Bones

by IndiraIshra



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: AUs, Cinnamon Roll Papyrus, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Multiverse, Out of character maybe so sue me, POV Second Person, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Rating Change, Reader-Insert, Underfell Sans is an awkward bread roll but he's trying, because yeah i'm trash, in fact all of them are awkward bread rolls, just wants a normal life what the fuck is this, other tags to be added i guess, protective skelebros, reader hates life but not in that way, self indulgence of the undertale kind, skelebros, what on earth do I tag this as, whether or not this is a slow burn has yet to be determined, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-06-17 03:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15452490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndiraIshra/pseuds/IndiraIshra
Summary: You just want to get through life as carefully as possible. Make money, pay for the events of your past, and live like a normal person, albeit working several jobs and driving yourself into the ground while you do it.Enter Sans. And Sans. And Sans. And just as many Papyrus. Or is that Papyri?Apparently a determination driven person just like you is catnip for skeletons.So much for that normal life.





	1. Trying to Survive

**Author's Note:**

> I've read a few of these. Never posted before. Decided it was time to jump the bandwagon because I'm skele-trash. Characterisations might be off, I'm not so good at the many AUs etc.

“YN,” your co-worker hissed, and you looked up from your phone guiltily, eyes flickering across to the clock on the wall. You were on your break; had you missed the end of it? But no, you still had fifteen minutes left, ticking slowly away.

“What’s up Marie?” You asked, even as you started gathering your bits and bobs together to shove back into your bag. If she was in here, she needed you for some reason or another. You would have expected it to be because of busyness, but there was a franticness to her voice that gave you doubt.

“Um,” Marie’s eyes flittered nervously to the side and then back up. “There’s a difficult customer. And the newbie doesn’t want to deal with them.” Softer, she added, “I don’t think _I_ want to deal with them.”

That was a surprise. Marie had worked here years longer than you and was level-headed, could talk down any hothead, any angry, pompous asshole that stormed into the place.

You hardened your expression, throwing rubbish into the bin and your bag into your locker with such force you wouldn’t be surprised if your phone screen earned itself another crack.

“What about Harley?” You asked, even as Marie moved so you could squeeze by.

“Disappeared as soon as they came through the door into his office,” Marie admitted, staying a few steps behind you as her hands twisted nervously in her pinny.

“This customer say anything unsavoury?” You asked, fumbling into your own pinny.

“No, that’s – that’s not the problem.”

You took the corner and opened the door into the bar area before you could ask what the problem was. You’d immediately seen it anyway.

You let the door swing shut again unsure if you’d been seen, but it gave you precious moments to collect yourself and slowly punch your number into the clock-in machine next to the door to end your break.

Marie watched you, hands still tangled in front of her. You were sure she’d see nothing, considering your ability to school your expression.

You still turned on her to hiss, “What the hell Marie. I expected one of the assholes, like Duncan. Not a _skeleton.”_

There was a skeleton at the bar. A live one. Could it be alive? The amount you were paid was _not_ enough for the bullshit you were certain you were about to endure. Because this was you. And frightened or not, you wouldn’t let Marie go through it instead.

Marie shrugged, knuckles white on her pinny. The only colour on her face was the blue of her eyes.

“I don’t know. I heard about the Ebott thing a couple months ago, but I didn’t – we’re only a couple miles away, so I didn’t think that, that they might make it here too.”

Taking in a fortifying breath, you let your hair down and then pulled it back up into a tight enough ponytail that you felt it tug at your scalp and exacerbate the headache you already had.

“You’ll need to serve other customers,” You reminded her, and fumbling about in your pinny you pulled out a small, wrapped sweet to pass to her.

“I know,” Marie mumbled. “Everyone else will probably go to the other end of the bar anyway.”

She took the candy gratefully, popping it into her mouth without hesitation.

“See you out there.” You smiled but it was probably more of a grimace.

When you pushed the door open this time it was with more fanfare, and the skeleton at the bar turned its head towards you.

It was a little out of your depth, but the bitter voice in the back of your head reminded you of how you’d probably faced worse. Taking in a fortifying breath, you strode down the length of the bar to stop in front of your newest – and strangest – customer.

“Sorry ‘bout the wait,” you told them shortly. “What can I get for you – “ and you didn’t know whether to say ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’ and so petered off.

You felt like you were being judged, your skin crawling as red lights mimicking eyes in hollow sockets traced up and down what was visible of you past the bar. The skeleton was bulky, swaddled in a black jacket, fluff swallowing up the hood.

It’s seemingly perpetually bared teeth seemed to have one that was golden, all of them shaved down to a sharp point.

Just as you were aware that it was wearing a collar, the leash hidden behind its neck and under the bulk of the jacket, it spoke.

“havin’ fun checking me out, sweetheart?” it drawled, pressing an elbow to the bar and pressing a chin to its palm. One of the eye sockets closed and opened in the approximation of a wink.

“Sorry,” you replied curtly instead, trying to ignore the twinge in your face at imagining a skull contorting that way in a human. “But I have to ask – what gender are you?”

The skeleton barked a laugh, lifting its face from its hand.

“sugar, if you wanted to know what’s in my pants, you’ve just got to ask.”

You arched an unimpressive brow.

The skeleton laughed again, and a customer who had dared take a seat two stools down moved even further away.

“the names sans, sans the skeleton.” It winked again. “but i’m a full-blooded man, through and through.”

You refrained from asking how a skeleton could have blood.

“Sans,” you repeated his name back to him, and the grin in his face turned wider and sharper. Had he shuddered? From you calling his name?

“yeah?” he asked in reply, shit-eating grin still in place.

You don’t know how you stopped yourself from sighing in exasperation but you did it. Point to you.

“What can I get for you?”

“how’s about a tall glass of _you.”_

You were being flirted with, poorly, by an animated skeleton monster. This time, you did sigh, a gust of air rushing from your nose.

“We have a menu. I’m not on it.” You smile, probably tighter than you meant at the ridiculousness of the situation. “They had to take me off because they couldn’t keep up with demand.”

Sans’ face was split in such a way you were certain the wideness of his smile had to be hurting him. In the dimness of the bar, he looked like he was sweating. You did not want to get into the logistics or science of how something made of bone could sweat.

“oh, and what a shame that is sweetheart. how about the strongest you have on the shelf and a bottle of mustard.” He waggled a brow, as if daring you to question his choices this time.

“I’ll see what I can _mustar-d_ up,” you replied dutifully, unable to help yourself, and watched as Sans snorted, eyes lit up in mirth and something else you refused to name.

You had to duck into the restaurant area of the establishment your employer owned, but as requested, you returned to Sans with a bottle of standard mustard and a shot of the nasty stuff Harley kept in the top shelf for brave and stupid customers who wanted their stomach pumped before the end of the night.

“thanks, doll,” Sans mock toasted you with the shot glass and downed it in one. You noticed immediately as the coloured lights in his sockets dimmed and shrunk a little. Again, you did not want to get into logistics.

Pre-emptively, you filled a half-pint glass with water and pushed it towards him with your fingertips.

Sans tapped the lip of the shot glass.

“strong stuff,” he acquiesced, but hadn’t coughed or spluttered like you’d expected him too. He hadn’t even heaved or vomited like some of the less robust customers when faced with what you were personally sure was made by the devil.

Sans ignored the glass of water and instead uncapped the mustard. You couldn’t stop the noise of disgust that left you as he proceeded to down the bottle.

The rest of your shift followed the same sort of lines. Sans would occasionally try something new on the alcohol menu and flirt terribly, interspersed with a handful of pet names.

Eventually, you removed the glass from in front of him to be transferred to the dishwasher.

“cutting me off, sugar?” Sans sounded almost tipsy, but the lights in his eyes were attentive as ever.

“My shift is coming to an end. Another of my co-workers might be able to help you.”

“nah,” Sans waved a hand dismissively. The tips of his fingers were like claws. Perhaps they had been filed down like his teeth. Unless they were natural. You resigned yourself to not asking.

Instead, you told him the total cost of what he’d steadily made his way through in the past three hours.

Sans pulled out a wallet, plain and black, and slapped several bills on the countertop. It was far too much, and you could tell by the grin on his face, he knew it.

“keep the rest, darling. think of it as a tip, from good ol’ me.”

You couldn’t help but smile then, not one of the stiff ones from before but softer, thankful. You were tired, and ready for bed, but what you had expected to be a difficult customer was instead an event you were glad for. Serving one customer over the course of a night, who wasn’t much of a jerk, rather than a hoard of drunken middle-aged men looking to one-up each other was much better than you’d expected your night to go.

“Thanks Sans,” you murmured, gathering the bills together to count them.

Sans was sweating again.

“so, uh,” Sans shoved his hands into his pockets as he stood. Man, he had some bulk, but he wasn’t much shorter than you. He just had the illusion of being incredibly buff despite the noticeable lack of muscle. Or flesh. Or skin.

If he asked for your number, the night would just be as bad as the rest, despite what you’d previously thought. Your hand tightened on the glass in your hand.

“this might sound strange but, would you mind callin’ me ‘red’?” he looked at you across the bar.

“Red?” you asked, thumb playing with the rim of the glass. His eyelights had dropped to the motion and you abruptly stopped.

The sweating intensified.

“sans is a popular name for skeletons,” he lifted a hand to cough into his fist. “but the, uh, oldest we call sans. nickname for me is red.”

You were pretty damn sure he was lying. Your bullshit detector was top notch considering what you’ve had to deal with before.

Some of the dots clicked together. Sans – Red – shuddering when you called him by his true name. You wondered how long it’d been since he’d been called it.

“You’re talking as if I’m going to meet any of them,” you pointed out drolly. “If it’s between me and you, ‘Sans’ is your name, right?”

Skeletons could blush. There was apparently no such thing as logic or science any more as Sans cheekbones flooded with a faint red glow.

Sans pressed a hand to his exposed teeth, a noise like a giggle leaving him.

“oh, doll, if i could help it you’d never have to meet any of the others. i’d keep this quiet little heaven for myself.”

You wouldn’t call the rundown bar-restaurant – more of a dive – that you worked in a quiet little heaven. But you’d seen the cracks and splinters in Sans’ skull and fingers and knew when to keep your mouth shut.

You’d been a mouthy little brat, before. That’d been fixed long ago.

Unsure why you were doing it, you put down the glass and reached out into your pinny to pull out a notebook and pen, one you used when bussing tables instead, or when there was a crowd at the counter and taking all the orders at once was quicker than one on one time.

Scribbling onto to the top page, you ripped it off and passed it over. Sans accepted it reluctantly. The bone that brushed your skin was dry and rough.

His brow lifted and fell in confusion, his skull moving impossibly again.

“what’s this. some sorta code?”

“The days I work. The shifts I’m here,” you said promptly, picking up the glass again to roll between your palms. You didn’t really feel embarrassed just a little…exposed. It’d been a while since you’d offered a proverbial hand of friendship.

“That is,” you continued, the old pang of anxiety curling in your stomach. “That is, if you want to give me another peaceful night of being the only customer I can serve.”

The smile that widened Sans’ face seemed the most genuine that night. You went back to wondering what could have made him the way he was.

* * *

 

“Oh please, come on,” you muttered to your car as the ignition spluttered angrily and refused to catch. The time, glowing in the dashboard showed it a little after four, about half an hour after you’d said your goodbyes to Sans

You had to be up at nine, to make it to your daytime job. It was a forty-five-minute walk from the bar, and you didn’t like having to do it in the daytime much less the dark before dawn could crest the horizon.

The ignition spluttered again in response and you resisted the urge to shriek in frustration, instead smacking your hands erratically against the wheel before you pressed your forehead to the worn leather.

“Please,” you muttered under your breath, fingers clenching into a loose fist around the wheel. “Just for tonight, please. Don’t make me do this.”

The town you lived in was safe enough. But that didn’t discount the dark corners and grimy alleyways and quiet places that every ‘safe enough’ town had. The day you thought you could walk home safely at four am would be the day you were snatched off the streets and all they found of you were the scraps.

“One more time,” you said firmly, lifting one hand with your forehead still pressed to the wheel. You grasped your keychains, car key still stuck in the ignition. Offering a fervent prayer to the car gods, you twisted.

Spluttering again. Hiccups of the engine trying and failing. There was a sudden, pervasive red glow from the bonnet in front of you and the panic of a broken car was swamped by the panic of that same car on fire. When you looked up, the red was gone but the engine finally, _finally_ turned and the car was humming below you.

“Thank you,” you whispered to yourself, the clawing fear of having to walk home, or sleep in your car in a less than reputable part of town again, _never again, please_ was drowned under the overwhelming relief.

As soon as your next paycheck dropped in you would give this car all the love and attention it deserved that you could afford. It was a hunk of junk but it was yours and you loved it.

You patted the wheel, gentler than your angry and wild hits of before, a moment of panic and weakness.

“Let’s go home.”

* * *

 

When you shouldered open the door to your home, the base of it dragged over a handful of letters piled on the floor, delivered while you were already out of the house.

You picked them up and shuffled over them absently as you slowly meandered towards the couch. Bill. Bill. Probably something about the money you owed. Spam. Another bill.

You dropped into the couch with a heavy sigh, scrubbing at your sore eyes and finally letting your hair down. The headache barely ceased, but as you fumbled over the table you closed your fingers around a blister packet and pulled the medication back towards you victoriously.

Popping out four the disgusting bastards, you swallowed them dry, grimacing at the rancid taste they left on your tongue when they tried to dissolve too soon. It was twice the recommended dose by the packaging, but you were too far gone too long ago to care.

You dropped your bag off your shoulder and nudged it to the floor, tossing the sheaf of papers in your hand to the coffee table.

Your bedroom was just across the room, the door ajar, moonlight and lamplight spilling in the gaps in your blinds to highlight messy sheets and a messier floor. It would be easy to meander over and drop into the nest of blankets.

It was much easier to just sit there for the moment, eyes closing against the dry burn they seemed to perpetually hold. It was just for a moment after all…

And then your phone was ringing, the tinny sound of the song you’d set as your alarm tone echoing through the small house and startling you awake from where you’d slumped down into the couch.

You sat there for a long, long moment, listening as the alarm petered off and then started again, oddly muffled. Of course, you’d never moved your phone from your bag to charge and you were surprised it had even lasted this long.

The thought of calling in sick crossed your mind for a brief second, the owner of the café you worked in during the daytime an absolute sweetheart regarding your health. Unfortunately, the sweetness didn’t extend to paying for any length of sickness under five days. That was unaffordable in any capacity.

Rummaging in your bag, you pulled out the shrill device, swiping the alarm away and off the screen. It had a measly three-percent left and dully you wondered what percentage you yourself had.

Ugh. Sometimes living was hard. Not in the ‘not want to live it’ way but the ‘just ease off my back please’ way. ‘Let me breathe for once please’ way.

Trudging reluctantly into the bedroom, you plugged your phone in and stripped your bar uniform off, dumping it straight onto the bed. After a moment’s thought, your underwear followed and you trailed your way across the house to the bathroom.

The shower was a quick, half-hearted affair, to get the grime of your skin and the smell of sweat and grease out of your hair. In next to no time at all you were swaddled in towels and staring into the empty confines of your fridge, wondering when your next day free to get groceries was, and if sleep for dinner was back on the menu.

Filching an apple from the depths of your fridge and shining it briefly on your towel, you ate it through it methodically and thoughtlessly, staring out of the window with a faraway gaze.

The headache throbbed, and you closed your eyes. At one point you felt on the verge of tears, but ruthlessly shoved that feeling down. You locked it up, closed it tight and threw away the key. Weakness was no longer an option.

You felt your jaw spasm briefly, an old tic. It went twice more, before you ground your teeth together and stormed into the bedroom, nothing left of the apple but a forgotten core of seeds on the kitchen counter.

* * *

 

You clocked in at the bar feeling awfully woozy. Your head was still throbbing, an insistent migraine pounding behind your eyes. Your car had spluttered at the café when you’d tried to leave, but the bar was closer to the café than either building was to your house.

You’d had to spend a few hours sat in the staffroom, drinking water and letting your phone charge on the outlet before you could start work, grateful for the spare uniforms Harley insisted on keeping.

The amount of drinks thrown at you before was staggering, whether on purpose or not.

The shirt seemed a tighter fit than you were used to, feeling as if it were constricting your ribs and lungs. The pervasive feeling of not quite being able to get a full breath in was awful.

“Heads up,” Lucas declared as you tied your pinny carefully, fingers feeling like wood. “Duncan’s about.”

“If he has anything to say, he can shove it up his ass,” you replied snidely, clenching a hand into a fist to try and disperse the sudden trembles. On your third try you managed to get the pinny snug around your hips.

“Watch yourself. Just give one of us a shout if you need a hand showing him what for. Harley has Stu on the door tonight, he’ll be keeping an eye out.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, feeling a little babied and bitter for it, and before Lucas could say more you were sweeping open the door and stepping out into the bar itself.

Duncan was, through and through, a dick. Tall, weighty, and unafraid to throw that weight around, he obviously thought he was the world’s gift to womenkind – who somehow never responded thankfully or happily to his advances.

Saying no was an incentive. Being violent to him was hot. Pulling away was a game.

You were used to worse. Far worse. You felt better equipped to deal with him than some of the meeker staff who only worked to earn money and not because the enjoyed the job – not that you did.

But sometimes when Duncan rose his voice, tried to get a little handsy, the small part of your brain that remembered, that would never forget, it would start to thrash and panic and the parts of you that never recovered would throb in memory.

Not for the first time you wondered if you needed this job.

Stu, a hulking man of over six foot five gave you an acknowledging look from across the bar, his head tipping noticeably to one side and you followed the direction of the tilt to your current cause of misery.

Thankfully, Duncan hadn’t noticed you were working. You were a favourite target, and you wondered if maybe you had an invisible target from your past painted on your forehead.

You certainly had no looks for him to be interested in, being a short, skinny bag of bones due to poor circumstances.

In fact, by the time he _had_ noticed you, Sans was slipping into the stool directly opposite you, shit-eating grin already in place.

“Didn’t expect to see you again,” you admitted. The smile faltered and Sans began sweating.

“you’re the one givin’ me your schedule sugar.”

“I know.” You shrugged a shoulder, already turning to pick out a new spirit of the night. “I just reckoned a skeleton like you might have more to do than hang around in a bar.”

“don’t follow the news much, huh? all the important stuff is over with. coupla years until we’re considered actual citizens i’d guess but for now we have the basics. house buying, coupla jobs here and there. gold goes a long way sweetheart.”

“Don’t say that,” you murmured, setting a glass down in front of him. “Might tempt me to steal that tooth of yours to make a profit.”

Sans laughed, full bellied, and you felt an answering smile prick at your lips.

“if you want a sugar daddy _sugar_ , all you gotta do is ask.” Sans wiggled his non-existent brows again, gold tooth catching the lights.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him, and he settled into his seat more comfortably, as if he’d been ready to be seen as unwelcome.

“but enough about me. who’s the sack’a’meat that won’t stop staring.” Sans discretely tipped the tip of his shot glass in Duncan’s direction.

“Just a regular.” You rest your elbow on the bar, pressing fingers to the bridge of your nose and willing the migraine to ease by just a little. “Bit of a dick. Bit of a creep.”

“and yer boss still lets him in?”

You shrug half-heartedly.

“Money is money, no matter where it comes from.”

“if anyone was a creep in grillbz bar he’d toast them,” Sans mused, and your poor, poor head could _not_ compute at that moment when a red tongue lolled out of his jaws and lapped at the drops of alcohol still clinging to the glass.

“What?” you asked faintly.

Unaware of your dilemma, Sans set the glass down.

“grillby, owned a bar underground. great place, good atmosphere. didn’t put up with no shit. assholes like that wouldn’t make it to a second night.”

“Sounds like an ideal place to work,” you admitted, unable to stop thinking about the honest to god, bright red tongue that Sans had just employed.

Sans peered at you from the corner of his eye, attention still half placed as he watched Duncan make his rounds.

“give ‘im a coupla weeks,” Sans advised eventually, “but grillbz might have a place up and running up top. havin’ a human worker could be novel. but maybe i won’t tell ya, so i can keep you all to myself.”

“You’re real strung up on that,” you reached for his shot glass, which he rolled amicably into your hand. There were faint red droplets on the glass. The shot you’d served him had been clear. Skeleton tongues. What the fuck.

“first human to be decent to me? definitely keepin’ that for myself.” Sans shrugged a shoulder.

You huffed a laugh, reaching down to get yourself a glass of water. You drank the half-pint in one long continuous gulp, and when you set the glass back down, Sans was hurriedly turning his head away.

He was sweating again, a gentle red glow to his complexion.

“if you were thirsty, sugar, i coulda helped ya,” Sans muttered, and you laughed as you tilted the shot glass in his direction and watched him nod.

It went the same as the previous night. Flirtations, passing comments. You had a few other people to serve, not all of them jittered by the skeleton hanging around the bar.

Sans seemed more flustered tonight than the other night.

“so,” he finally said as the clock ticked over and you reached to take his glass from him to close your side of the bar.

“Hmm?” you asked, fiddling with the glass again, careful this time of the spots of red now that Sans apparently had a tongue and knew how to use it. You almost, _almost_ blushed at the connotations your thought could have then. Thankfully you weren’t one for speaking your thoughts aloud.

“how sleazy would ya find me if i asked for your number?”

You eyed him up for a long moment and watched him squirm, his eyelights flittering back and forth. Your immediate rebuttal wanted to be ‘very’. Then you remembered him calling you the only decent human he’d known so far, after months of exposure.

“My phone is in the staffroom,” you began and watched him slump, as if you were about to reject him. “But give me your number. I’ll text you when I get to my car or something.”

You pulled out your notebook and pen, jotting down the number Sans eagerly rattled off to you. You read the numbers, taking a few blinks to get them into focus. Was that a three or an eight? Your writing was atrocious.

“Wait,” you finally said, head throbbing. “My _car.”_

How were you going to get _home?_

“everything okay?”

You plastered on a brief smile.

“Just thinking about petrol,” you said, tucking the notepad away. “Was trying not to think about it. Expense on expense.”

“sugar daddy sans is still on the table,” Sans replied cheekily, winking at you. “you wouldn’t even have to do much, just stand there and look pretty.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you replied, folding your hands together on the bar. “Doing that would step on the independent hot woman vibe I’ve got going on.”

“oh man, and what a vibe,” Sans laughed lowly, an almost awkward chuckle as he tugged at his collar. It made you want to ask about it. Aesthetic? Reasoning? You couldn’t imagine walking around in the open with a collar on.

“but i’ll leave you be, sweetheart. i’ll be waiting.” He saluted at you with his phone.

“I’ll save you under RedHot,” you replied glibly, and watched as he turned firetruck red and disappeared into the crowd, your last glimpse of him waving at you from the doorway before ducking away.

* * *

 

You were going to have to walk. The pit in your stomach that had wedged itself there the other night reared its ugly head and made itself heavier, more noticeable.

Any attempt at phoning a taxi had resulted in dial tone or promises of a lift at extortionate rates you couldn’t possibly justify spending when you had perfectly functioning legs.

It might be safer to wait on the doorstep until dawn and walk back in the bright of the rising sun, but that would mean no sleep before you were expected to clock in in time at the café.

While deliberating your options, stood in the nearly empty carpark, you punched the number Sans had given you into your phone.

 **(xxx):** _Hope this is the right number. It’s YN from the bar._

You wished you’d brought a jacket. It was a little chilly out, your breath a wisp of cloud whisked from between your lips.

 **RedHot:** _you got it ;)_

You felt your lips tug into a smile.

 **(xxx):** _Glad I got it right. Was worried that I mijoyu_

The hand suddenly in your hair was such a huge fright that your thumbs slipped over the screen of your phone and it clattered to the concrete below.

Rancid breath washed into your face.

“You a monster fucker?” Duncan accused, his fist like a chain in your ponytail. “Fuck a thing like that but won’t give me a second look? Shoulda known, you filthy whore.”

He was drunk, more so than you’d seen him before. You kicked him in the shin, the buzz of a text reply on your phone just a distant noise under the rush of your heartbeat in your head.

Duncan cursed and gave you a pretty solid backhand for a man whose blood alcohol content probably never dropped and only got higher.

The throbbing in your head had you emptying your guts straight onto his shoes and it gave you the mercy of him letting go of your hair and letting you stumble back, the rough of the wall scraping your back.

Harley would still be inside, counting the tills. If you screamed, he’d probably hear. He’d probably ignore it, knowing his place was in a less than savoury part of town.

“He’s a customer,” you gasp out, your mouth tasting like blood and vomit. “No one else wants to serve him.”

“Bullshit,” Duncan snarled and something in your throat dropped, down, down into your stomach at the clink and rasp of a belt pulling free.

You skittered along the length of the wall, missing the angry snatch he’d made in your direction. His other hand caught the collar of your uniform, tugging so hard that a few buttons popped open, and your hand shot up to keep your shirt closed.

You should probably scream anyway. Maybe someone, somewhere, would hear. Your phone was buzzing across the floor, a phonecall, and you were dimly surprised that it still worked after a tumble like that.

“I don’t make it a habit to sleep with customers,” you spat back. “Much less you!”

Your head was swimming, but you were still backing across the carpark. There was a twenty-four-hour store just a couple minutes round the corner. If you ran you might make it.

You could barely see Duncan in the dim light, just the whites of his eyes and the snarl of his teeth.

Your heel caught something and then you were reeling backwards, arms pinwheeling wildly to try and keep you upright. Your back impacted something warm, and firm and an arm steadied you around your waist, bony fingers pressing in to keep you upright.

Duncan was suddenly lit up, his frame glowing a familiar red, like the bonnet of your car from the night earlier. His face had twisted, from a malignant snarl to blatant fear.

Your head swam, your knees buckling slightly below you. The arm tightened, keeping you from slumping to the floor even as your vision started to spot.

“looks to me buddy,” Sans drawled, voice tight and dark and dangerous in your ear, his words following you into the darkness of unconsciousness. “that you’re going to have a **_b a d  t i m e.”_**

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think, buckos. Any hints and tips for future skeleton interactions and how they act would be appreciated xx


	2. Bones and Bruises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the end of it all, you feel a little more alive. That's saying something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characterisations and consistency is hard. I'm sorry.

“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?” a voice invaded your rest, your eyelids feeling gummy and stuck. You didn’t want to wake up. You felt like you’d gone a round in a boxing ring, or fought a car and lost.

“boss – “ that voice you recognised, Sans but nervous.

“YOU OBVIOUSLY WEREN’T,” the first voice accused, “BRINGING BACK SOMETHING LIKE THAT.”

Oh god, did they have to be so loud? You groaned and the soft scuffling in the room came to a stop. You managed to ease one eye open. Trying the other hurt so much it made tears prick.

That…was the spikiest skeleton you have _ever_ seen, not that you had many to compare to.

“sorry for waking you,” was spoke to the side you were blind on, and you lolled your head weakly to the side to see Sans stood there, nervously.

“Where?” you began, voice rasping in your throat. You reluctantly let Sans help you sit up. The spikey skeleton watched this with a look of disdain. A part of you wondered if you were hallucinating. A larger part wondered if this was death.

You wouldn’t be surprised.

“you wouldn’t wake up. so i took you back to mine. thought boss or…one of the others could give you a hand.”

“AS WE’VE DETERMINED, YOU DON’T THINK.” The tall skeleton scoffed haughtily and strode across the room towards the bed you were in. He moved far, far too fast, too close too soon.

Something in you, rattled, shrieked in fear. Biting your lip to keep that noise contained, you were unable to help yourself from jerking back violently, head slamming into the headboard and the whole bed banging angrily against the wall.

Your heart was in your throat.

“you’re okay, sweetheart,” Sans voice was rough at your elbow, fingers closing over your arm. You jerked away again, unable to help yourself.

The too many rough movements culminated, your stomach roiling.

The spikey one had gone silent but he seemed to be appraising you now rather than judging, his brow bones pulled down in a frown.

“HOW WAS IT HURT,” he interjected before you could make a spectacle, like vomit in Sans face or all over your lap, even as your heart rabbited in your chest.

The memory was fuzzy, but still slammed into you like a train.

“Duncan?” you asked, mouth a weird combination of dry with fright and wanting to fill with saliva.

“won’t be bothering anyone anymore,” Sans promised.

“Murder – “ you began.

“won’t be bothering anyone. didn’t say he was dead.”

“STOP IGNORING ME SA – RED. HOW WAS THE HUMAN HURT.”

You lifted a hand to press to your nose, feeling puffy and gross and tired.

“saw her in the carpark getting smacked about,” Sans sounded blasé to begin with, rolling a shoulder. His next words were spat, “fucker had his pants at his ankles boss. like i said, she wouldn’t wake up. wanted to make sure she weren’t concussed or somethin’.”

“I’m not,” you told him, before they could get into an argument regarding you. “Concussed. He, uh,” you swallowed your pride, the need to prove your health greater. “He didn’t hit hard enough.”

“he hit you before?” Sans voice was soft and sounded dangerous, and he dared close fingers around your arm again. This time your screaming instincts didn’t demand you run away and hide. You were determined to be strong.

“Not him,” you muttered, and probed the inside of your mouth with your tongue. It came back tasting of blood and the saliva built again, your body beginning to heave. You didn’t even see Sans move before there was a bucket under your face and you were spewing, barely anything more than bile and water splattering the plastic.

“this is my bro,” Sans pulled the bucket aside when you were done. “i asked if he could help. he knows some healin’. if not.” He shrugged. “there’s some others.”

“FINALLY YOU INTRODUCE ME YOU REPROBATE,” the brother scoffed. “BECAUSE YOUR MANNERS SEEM TO HAVE TAKEN LEAVE, MY NAME IS PAP – EDGE.”

“YN,” you muttered back. “Was that Pap, or Edge?”

Pap-Edge looked as if he were having a conniption.

“another skeleton thing sweetheart.”

“Oldest gets the name,” you mocked at him. “I’ll call you by your actual name, if it’s all the same.” You addressed Pap-Edge.

“I AM THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS.” Papyrus puffed his chest out in pride.

“Nice to meet you, Papyrus,” you muttered, not really feeling it. You just wanted to sleep for a million years and –

_Work._

Sans looked at you funny, his hand on your arm tightening a fraction as he no doubt felt the way your heart went from zero to sixty in nothing flat.

“What’s the time?” you asked, trying to sit up. “I might be late for work.”

“little after midday.”

“I’ve got to go.” You struggled to get your legs out of the bed. You were still wearing your uniform, and clumsily lifted a hand to hold the torn shirt together to preserve your modesty.

Papyrus came at you then, looming over you with arms outstretched. You knew he was aiming to push you back into bed. Sore, and bewildered, you did the next best thing to get away.

Tucking under his fingers, you scrambled over and past Sans, who seemed too shocked at your quick getaway technique to grab back at you. You didn’t stop moving until you hit the far wall and could turn to face the skeletons in the room, shaking fingers still clasping at your shirt.

“I’d appreciate it,” you said with more bite than you were feeling. “If you didn’t touch me without my permission. I’m sorry, but how does this look? I’m waking up, in a stranger’s house, and you’re trying to confine me to the bed?”

“it ain’t like that,” Sans said softly, sounding wounded. “was just trying to help, sweetheart.”

“It’d help if you let me go home and sort myself out.”

“at least let the boss heal you up before you go? you got one helluva shiner going.”

Papyrus was still frozen, outstretched over the bed like some sort of skinny bat creature. There was something knowing in his eyes as he watched you though, like a predator surveying the injured prey. There was no pity, just understanding.

It sort of helped.

“Where’s my phone?” you replied instead, and Sans reached into his pocket, lifting the device out. He approached you slowly, that same understanding starting to bloom in his expression.

You snatched the phone when he was close enough and lit the screen up. It was cracked more than before, a spiderweb mess. The corner that had hit the concrete was slightly dented. Miraculously, it still worked.

One-oh-six in the afternoon. Twelve missed calls. Two voicemails.

The anxiety clawed at your throat at the thought of losing this job, at having to take more hours at the bar.

God, your head hurt so much. Everything hurt. Your back, your face, your very skin. You wanted to claw everything off and hide in a hole. Instead, you hardened your stance and straightened your spine.

You let your thumb hover over the most recently missed phone call, time stamped at a little before twelve. They were all the same number. Turning slightly away from the other occupants of the room, you pressed call.

It rang twice before the person on the other end picked up.

_“It’s about time!”_ Maddie sounded annoyed. You squeezed your phone tightly, until the crooked edges bit into your palm.

_“I hope you have – “_

“I was mugged last night,” you replied, the lie rolling off your tongue smoothly.

The annoyance melted away.

_“Oh, YN, honey. Are you okay? Where are you now, are you safe?”_

“I’m…with some friends,” you stumbled slightly, and she must have attributed the shakiness of your voice to the situation.

_“Take your time,”_ Maddie soothed. _“Take a coupla days, on me. Free holiday, with pay I promise.”_

“Maddie,” you began, “You can’t –“

_“I can and will,”_ Maddie said imperiously. _“You’re a hard worker and I refuse to have you at anything but your best.”_ From someone else it might have been hurtful. From Maddie, it was jesting.

You scrubbed your other hand over your face, swollen side and all despite the pain, to prevent the tears. Something in your lip split. You were too rough.

“Thank you,” you said, with heat and meaning, reaching to tug your shirt closed again.

_“I’ll call you with your shifts when I expect to see you. Get some rest. Stay with those friends of yours if you can. Don’t forget to call the police. What do you want doing with your car?”_

“Leave…I’ll leave the car there,” you decided. “It’ll be safe, if you don’t mind.”

_“No worries. Rest up,”_ Maddie bid you farewell, and you dropped the phone, arm falling limp to your side.

You turned, and both Sans and Papyrus immediately twisted to make it look as if they weren’t eavesdropping on your conversation.

“Where are we?” you asked, and refrained from spitting blood onto their nice carpet, drawing your tongue over the split.

Sans looked somewhat pained over the action, but answered duly.

“the boulevard.”

Right. Monsters had a lot of gold. It wouldn’t be too far-fetched for them to live in the part of town that had the biggest, fanciest houses.

It would take you over an hour to hoof it home. You weren’t sure you’d make it.

“Of course we are.”

“you know, despite your independent hot woman vibe – “

“RED, DON’T BE VULGAR.”

“- you can ask for help.”

You licked your lip again.

“I can’t pay you,” you warned, and even Papyrus looked as if you’d struck him, mimicking his brother.

“what the fuck,” Sans couldn’t help the expletive. He seemed shocked you’d expect them to want anything from you.

“I don’t know what it’s like from down there, but no one in this world will do you a good thing for free,” you rebutted. “So whatever you want, money isn’t on the table.”

“WE DON’T WANT ANYTHING FROM _YOU_ HUMAN,” Papyrus spat, the shock seeming to have abated. “EVEN WITHOUT YOU SAYING YOU HAVE NOTHING OF VALUE.”

“sugar, you can have anything you want today and then we can go to like this never happened. even if you won’t take anything else, let us look at that face, huh?”

“A bag of peas at home is the same as a bag of peas here.”

“WHAT DO VEGETABLES HAVE TO DO WITH THIS?”

You looked at them warily.

“To ice it.”

Sans suddenly seemed to relax then, grinning wide. He patted the bed.

“sit down. what we got is better than a bag of peas, promise.”

You still felt tired, and from what you’d learned of him, Sans might be a person you could trust. As far as you could throw him, sure, but if they’d had anything planned for you, it would have happened by now.

You picked across the room and perched on the end of the bed, and in the same motion, Papyrus strode around, giving you a wide berth but ultimately came to a stop opposite you, still looming. He looked like he was doing his best to be as un-loomy as possible though, which was sort of nice.

“I’M GOING TO HAVE TO TOUCH YOU, HUMAN. IT WILL BE UNPLEASANT FOR BOTH OF US, I’M SURE.”

So said the guy that had a dusting of red on his cheekbones.

There was a word for his personality. You weren’t too sure what it was. You were still more concerned over how bone could blush.

Bony fingers reached out, and you were sure if Sans hadn’t clasped a hand on your wrist you might have bolted again. Those fingers had some nasty claws, and you had some very soft, squishy parts.

They touched your face and, from them, warmth bloomed. Almost immediately your gummy eye opened, and you blinked rapidly to get rid of the sudden disorientation.

The fingers probed, going as far as your scalp just above your ear, barely catching the wispy hairs there. Your hair was still pulled back into a ponytail, but the dry touch was abating the seemingly constant headache you suffered from.

The hand dropped down, and you wondered if it was necessity or indulgence when a thumb rubbed over the split in your bottom lip.

Papyrus’ eyelights darted to something next to you, but all you saw when you glanced over was Sans, sweaty and nervous as he held your wrist.

“THAT WILL HAVE TO DO,” he finally snatched his hand back, as if your skin burned him. “DON’T EXPECT ME TO HELP YOU AGAIN, HUMAN. EVEN IF YOU BEG I WON’T HELP. MAYBE.”

“Don’t bet on it, skeleton,” you muttered back. From beside you, Sans snorted softly, confused, but his fingers curled a little tighter around your wrist, as if he were ready to pull you from the line of fire.

“EXCUSE ME?!” Papyrus sounded affronted, swinging back around to face you. “WHAT WAS THAT EARLIER ABOUT USING MY NAME?”

“Well, you seem to have forgotten mine. Thought I’d return the favour.” You tugged your shirt around, wishing you could button it rather than having to preserve your modesty this way. You weren’t ashamed of your body, the shape that it was. There were darker things you didn’t want seeing the light of day.

Papyrus was having a conniption again. He turned sharply on his heel and stormed out, but before he slammed the door behind him, he shot over his shoulder, “I WILL REMEMBER YOUR RUDENESS, HUMAN.”

“Is he always that high-strung?” you asked Sans.

“a little. be careful though, boss doesn’t always take to jokes that too well.” Sans laughed almost nervously.

Something flipped and flopped inside of you.

“If he gets violent, I’m not against fighting back,” you warned him. Sans’ grip loosened around your wrist.

“no, no! nothing like that, promise. boss is just intense, the new setup, up top, got him unsettled.”

“Right…”

You pulled your hand completely free, using it to tug the band out of your hair, letting it fall in bunched up waves around your shoulders because of how long it had been tightly tied up. It would need one hell of a comb to get back to looking normal.

Sans was watching you with absolute fascination. No, actually. He was watching your _hair._ Must have been a novel experience being so close to something you didn’t have.

Unbidden, you said, “Might be a little greasy but you can touch it if you like.”

Sans lit up like a christmas tree, cheeks glowing.

“My hair,” you continued, but it did nothing to abate the blush or the stammering.

But you noticed that Sans didn’t refuse and reached out to touch his fingertips to the closest curls. The next move was bolder, a full comb through, but both of you froze when some of the looser strands got caught in the divots between his finger bones, where one joint met another.

“Just pull gently,” you advised. “If I lose a few hairs it won’t hurt.”

Sans did just that, still speechless. When his hand was free of your hair, there were several strands still caught in his fingers. He pulled them out with finger and thumb of the other hand wordlessly.

Without his brother about, you felt a little more relaxed in your situation. Papyrus was intense. Sans you sort of knew.

Girding yourself, fingers turning white with how hard you were gripping your torn shirt, you asked, “Can I borrow the shower?”

Shit. That was meant to be clothes. But Sans was nodding, smile tilting his face up and you couldn’t take back your words.

“sure.” His eyelights glanced you up and down. You finger combed your hair, tugging the shirt more securely. He added, “get you some spare clothes, huh?”

“If you could. Or, just a jacket. I can throw my old stuff back on after.”

Sans stood, heaving himself off the bed easily.

“nah. findin’ you some clean clothes won’t be a chore. bet it’d be nice to be in somethin’ that ain’t that.”

It would be. You were glad that Sans was somewhat considerate, considering the horror stories you’d heard of other monsters – horror stories, now that you thought of it, always had the human as the instigator. Huh.

“don’t have a bathroom in here, but there’s one across the hall. everyone’s awake now, so don’t worry if you got any habits like singing in the shower, ain’t no one but you gonna hear.”

“Everyone?” you queried. Sans shrugged roughly, face pensive as if he’d not meant to let something like that slip.

“just a coupla us here. we uh, like to stick together.”

Bullshit detector, ding-ding. You didn’t call him out but accepted his hand to help you stand. Despite sleeping for at least eight hours and, by all accounts and purposes, being healed, you still felt exhausted and had a constant, persisting ache.

Stumbling a little as you stood, you noticed your bag sitting in the corner by the door and beelined for it, Sans going to wait in the open doorway as you picked it up and rummaged through it.

Painkillers. Success. Past you, you wonderful woman.

You popped four, out of habit, not noticing Sans’ grimace. After a measure of waiting, you decided on a fifth, your headache verging on migraine, pounding against your eye socket.

They all went down dry, one after the other. Making a face at the taste, you let Sans lead you across the hallway, where he opened another door that led to a bathroom that looked bigger than your bedroom.

“wait before you get in,” Sans advised, letting you set your bag down by the sink. You were tempted to look yourself in the mirror. He carried on, leaning in the doorway, “i’ll grab you the clothes – don’t have to come in while you’re showering then. unless you want me to.” A brow waggle.

You couldn’t help yourself and snorted.

He stepped in, guiding your attention to the shower, showing you how it worked. You turned it on, turning the temperature up to something short of scalding. There was no shampoo or conditioner – just body wash.

Not that that was a surprise.

“be right back sweetheart,” Sans promised, and shut the door behind you. You made a step towards the mirror, but quickly touched your face instead, pressing in where it had hurt before. Other than the pressure of your fingers, there was no pain.

Glancing in the mirror, despite the fact you had no proof on your skin that you’d been smacked, you still looked like an absolute _wreck._ Your tangle of hair made you look like a witch. Your bags had bags. You skin looked sallow, sunken. A small part of you told you that you were biased. That you only had bad thoughts for yourself.

At least by the looks of it, skeletons found you attractive. Maybe because you looked like one.

There was a rap of knuckles -  _bones?_ you thought almost hysterically - on the door. It eased open without waiting for your acknowledgement, and you closed your shirt once more over your bare skin.

Sans dumped a pair of sweatpants and a sweater on top of the closest counter. You guessed it would’ve been too much for him to dig out a bra in a household of, presumably, more skeletons.

“Is there a bus stop near here?” you asked.

“down the road, ten minute walk maybe. don’t use it myself. if yer looking for a way home, you can ask. not gonna indebt you to me just for asking for a run down the road.”

You suppose Sans got you back to this place somehow. Stands to say he could get you somewhere else.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” you allowed, reluctantly.

“’course not.” Sans grinned, easing back into being comfortable with you.

You watched him for a second then, and saw as his eyes moved first from you, and then to the still running shower.

“oh, oh, let me leave you be.” He raised his hands, stepping backward. “offer to stay is still on the table. you need a hand, just holler.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you drolly replied, and shut the door on his grinning face, making sure to flip the lock.

In shrugging off your shirt, your shoulders protested and you remembered the impact with the wall. You felt sore and tired still, tears threatening to overwhelm you.

You bit your lip hard enough to feel pain. The split was gone, but if you weren’t careful you’d make a new one. The shirt dropped to the floor and your bra followed it. Turning, you reluctantly glanced over your shoulder into the mirror.

Your upper back was just one big purple mess of bruises, blooming out from your spine to the arch of your shoulderblades where you’d hit the wall. Looking down at yourself, there were four small purple divots in your skin by one jutting hip, where Sans had grabbed you and held on in all his anger last night.

A bitter part of you wondered what you’d done to earn such anger, protectiveness, on your behalf.

Almost nervously, your fingers brushed across your abdomen, across the silver of old but tender scar tissue, crisscrossing its way across your skin and ending at your ribcage.

Another part of you wondered if your life would have turned out differently if you’d had someone like Sans back when everything seemed difficult and the world was against you.

Your trousers joined the heap of clothes on the floor, your underwear kicked off gracelessly. The bathroom was already warm with the heat the shower generated just by running. You wouldn’t dare run the hot water for so long in your own house, but here you didn’t pay the bills.

Peeling your socks off last, because bending so far felt like a chore, it didn’t take you long to duck your head under the sting of hot, pressured water, feeling your hair stick to your face and neck almost immediately.

The force of it hitting your abused shoulders made you vomit again, a heave of bile and nothing more down the shower drain and you braced a hand against the wall to keep the stars from your vision.

“Fuck,” you whispered to yourself, and resisted the urge to sink to your knees no matter how easy it would be. You didn’t think you’d be able to get back up. Oh, you were sure Sans would help if you called, but it would prickle your pride and embarrassment to be helped, naked, out of a shower because your legs refused to cooperate and your mind had gone to weaker places.

The shower was probably loud enough to cover the sounds of you crying, right? Just in case though, you brought your thumb to your mouth and bit the side of it, leaning to press your forehead to slick tiles, the pounding of the water on your back like a cruel form of torture.

You would be fine. You always picked yourself back up. You always made it.

All you needed was yourself.

* * *

 

The clothes Sans had laid out for you were sinfully soft, even though the hems of the sweatpants covered your toes and the sweater, a garish shade of orange you weren’t too sure of, nearly swept your knees.

You could tuck your hands inside the sleeves and pretend that you were six years old again. It was nostalgic. It was painful.

You buried the thought, determined not to think of it again.

Despite the fact it made you feel weirdly exposed, you forewent putting your underwear and bra back on, having worn both for at least twenty-four hours. The sweater was baggy enough to cover what breasts you had, and the only person who would know you weren’t wearing underwear would be you.

You rearranged your shoulder bag, shoving all the dirty clothes into the bottom of it where they wouldn’t be found unless you tipped it upside down. Everything else went back on top.

Using one of the smaller towels, you vigorously scrubbed at your hair as best you could, feeling confident in knowing that a perceived household of skeletons would neither have a hairdryer or hairbrush, lacking the key component they were needed for.

Instead, you finger combed in with equal vigour, pulling on tangles and knots alike, until you could throw it into a loose wet bun that dripped lukewarm water down your back.

You weren’t too sure you wanted to leave the bathroom, the warm space a sort of secret haven where you weren’t being watched by Sans, or his weirdly sharp brother, in more than one sense, Papyrus.

But you opened the door and were welcomed by not one, but two skeletons. One you recognised as they both faced you in the doorway. The other was tall and looked similar in only a vague way.

The other must have been the owner of the sweater you were wearing – you didn’t think many people would have a fondness for the same shade of orange outside of a cartoon; your borrowed sweater was the same colour as the new-comers sweatshirt.

“don’t you think you should let us know if you’re giving humans free reign of the house?” the orange one asked. “’specially if they’re gonna be stealing my clothes.”

“yn is a friend o’mine,” Sans replied defensively. “and i’ll wash your stinking clothes when she’s done with them. she was in need of a helping hand.”

“Don’t worry,” you interjected dully. “Give me a moment, and I’ll just get back into my old stuff.” The thought of having to get back into your dirty clothes triggered a really awful feeling inside of you, in a way that almost made you feel numb. 

A bead of water snuck down the slope of your neck and disappeared under the collar of the sweater.

Sans was sweating, and the other skeleton looked almost nervous now, tugging at one of his sleeves.

“nah,” the tall one said. “if red says he’ll wash ‘em, i’ll believe him.”

“Thanks,” you replied, tucking one of your hands up into the sleeves, your other hand keeping your bag secure on your shoulder. “But, Sans, you said you could take me home.”

“his name is red,” the orange one advised.

“Until I meet another Sans, that’s his name,” you replied dutifully, not missing the way that Sans shot a victorious, shit-eating grin at the tall one.

“and she’s already met my bro, stretch,” Sans told him. “so good luck getting called papy again.”

Oh. Oh, a second Papyrus? That’s why he looked familiar. He just had less spikes.

“Are you all related?”

Sans was sweating. The other one – Stretch? – shoved hands in his pockets.

“somethin’ like that.”

You tried to wonder what sort of family would name all the kids the same things, and then leave them to figure out how to go from there by themselves. Not an imaginative one for sure. Hadn't Sans said there were a lot of skeletons with familiar names? He hadn't said they all looked similar too. Maybe there were other Sans lookalikes. 

“come on, sweetheart,” Sans said, reaching to tug at the material bunched at your elbow. The sweater was really terribly too big. “said i’d take you home, and i ain’t one to break a promise.”

You went to offer thanks. Your stomach interrupted, and both skeletons made a double take as your anatomy made the most disgusting noise known to human and monster kind, gurgling into the empty silence of the hallway.

The ache of hunger reminded you that you still had to go grocery shopping. You briskly rubbed a hand over your cheeks, feeling them redden with embarrassment and anger at yourself.

“…sorry,” you muttered, arm dropping from your face to press down hard against your stomach to try and repress any other queries it happened to make.

“it’s about time for lunch, ain’t it red?” Stretch mused quietly, hands still in his pockets.

“I can eat at home,” you knew exactly where this was going and had no qualms about putting a stop to it. But Sans was looking at you contemplatively, and you wondered what he saw in your face to put such an expression on his.

You girded yourself, ready to refuse again. You weren’t a charity case. But your willpower was only so much, and your stomach voiced it’s opinion again.

Your face would be permanently red after this.

Sans sighed, but seemed to have made a decision.

“up to you, sweetheart, but you’re welcome to join us.”

You already owed them so much, a voice in your head told you, what’s one more little thing?

“If…if it’s no trouble.”

“wouldn’t offer if it was,” Stretch replied with a blasé shrug. “friend of red is a friend of ours.”

There was an unspoken moment between the two of them you couldn’t read as Sans turned to face the other. You wondered if it were some sort of rivalry, or a playful camaraderie.

“just one favour to ask,” Sans finally said, side-eyeing you. “mind callin’ me by my name one last time?”

Just that gave you an idea of what the offer of lunch entailed. In three days you’d met three skeletons. Sans was implying you’d meet more.

But you let a smile curl your lips and murmured, “Sure Sans. No worries at all.”

Stretch looked wistful at the name-calling, almost nostalgic.

You wondered what you’d stepped into, just by serving a skeleton at the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lunch time a la skeleton next time. The promise of a good meal fills you were determination.


	3. Baby Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wished the floor would swallow you whole. Anything else would be better than embarrassing yourself any further in front of a bunch of strange skeletons hell bent on making your entire existence awkward.

“if you don’t want to go in, we can just go back to my room and i can grab us some food,” Sans offered, watching you dither at the door. From beyond, in presumably the kitchen-dining room combination was a lot of noise.

There was a tiny nugget of guilt in your stomach as you wondered where Sans had slept if you’d taken his bed. The nugget was swallowed whole by the hunger and still it roared for more, no more than a speck of dust in the endless maw that was your stomach.

“I’m not scared,” you promised him. “Just don’t want to be an intruder.”

“bit late for that,” Stretch replied, and Sans elbowed him. You allowed yourself a moment of marvelling that the impact sounded like flesh on flesh.

“jus’ come in quietly. most of ‘em won’t care and you’ve already met boss.” Sans reached to squeeze your upper arm companionably, and somewhat settled the nerves that were bouncing around inside of you like a herd of rabbits let loose inside of your abdomen.

Then he was letting go and the reassurance went with him. You couldn’t help drawing an arm across your body, to hold your opposite elbow. Had the material of the sweater been any less lush, any less thick, you may have bruised yourself.

“you’re a little on edge,” Stretch said, his words nearly drowned out by Sans opening the door and the cacophony from beyond flooded into the hallway.

“I got attacked last night,” you told him bluntly, watched as something close to guilt and worry crossed his features. The bone was strangely malleable, made expressions as easy as any other flesh and blood face. “Sans was there to stop it from proceeding any further than it could have. I feel like I can…trust him.”

“you’d be the first to say that,” Stretch advised. “red ain’t exactly the friendliest skeleton about. but your second experience was with edge, so maybe he seems that way to you.”

You shrugged, catching Sans’ eye from across the kitchen as you reached the doorway. Only Papyrus was on the side of the table facing the door. He caught your eye once and then returned to spitting venomous vitriol at a smaller skeleton he was sat opposite. You could only see the backs of two skulls, but there was a voice from the far end of the table you could hear but couldn’t see the owner of.

Sans tipped his head a little in invitation.

“time to shine,” Stretch told you and you watched from the corner of your eye as his arm lifted. There was no time to move as he slapped a hand, presumably companionably and not maliciously, against your upper back.

The noise that left you was ungraceful, a broken wheeze of a choked off, bitten off sound of pain. It forced you to take two steps forward into a suddenly quiet kitchen, and your hand shot for the back of the nearest chair, your fingers curling over the wood and into jacket alike.

It felt like you couldn’t catch your breath; every time you inhaled it expanded your shoulders and burned like you’d been set on fire.

Food no longer sounded appealing, with the churning of your stomach. Your vision spotted, blurring at the edges with unshed tears. Your knees were trembling, and you were entirely unsure you’d be able to stay up.

Stretch’s hand had been hard. In a normal circumstance it was probably designed as enough force to make you stumble, perhaps as a practical joke into a hypothetical lion’s den. He was made of bone. Your shoulders were made of already abused, malleable flesh.

The jacket caught under your fingers slipped away, and a gentle hand rest against your side.

“take my seat,” a voice was saying. It sounded like Sans, and when you turned your head, it looked like your Sans but…different. Softer edges, less punk-pop cross emo clothing. More blue and white instead of red and black.

Your knees went weak and everything went a little hazy – someone was protesting about magic, but the most you could hear was the blood rushing in your head, an erratic heartbeat as you tried to catch your breath.

There was a seat under you now but you couldn’t remember moving.

Someone was shouting, someone else protesting. The noises culminated and all of a sudden you were holding a plastic cup of water. Smart move. You weren’t sure you’d keep a hold of it and glass would break. You managed to take a sip, water sloshing over the edge. The splash of cold against your face helped you feel more alive

“ARE YOU OKAY, HUMAN?!” a long face swayed into your vision. It wasn’t Papyrus, this skeleton was _way_ too friendly, in looks and tone of voice. Or maybe it _was_ a Papyrus, if Sans and Stretch’s bullshit was believable.

“STRETCH, IT’S NOT NICE TO HIT PEOPLE!” a smaller face from the other side. Oh, this one was kind of adorable, but you weren’t sure if the stars in the eye sockets were real, or if your vision was swimming that bad.

But the pain was easing away and you felt like you could breathe properly again. Deep breaths made your shoulders expand, tugging at the pain but now it was bearable. Your free hand untangled from a fist, your fingers aching – you didn’t know when you’d clenched them so tight, could feel a prick of sting in your palm from dug in nails but no blood.

A hand pressed into the small face next to you and it was pushed away with a splutter. Sans replaced it.

“you doin’ okay doll?”

You licked your lips, focusing on the pattern of your breathing.

“Sure. Why not.”

Sans smiled, but it had no humour, in comparison to the worry in his eyelights which flittered up and down your body. They darted to the left, dimming slightly. You wondered what he saw.

“you willin’ to let boss take another look at you?”

The thought of taking your borrowed sweater off in present company, reduced to just Papyrus and Sans or no, curdled in your gut. Sans must have seen it in your face, because he gently patted your knee. He was crouched, trying to make himself smaller. It was a nice sentiment; he had seen you act like a cornered animal in the bedroom already.

“nah? no worries. still want some lunch?”

You still felt the faint curling of nausea in your gut. The hunger had stepped back, taking a rear seat when compared to the pain. There were still faint murmurings behind you.

Somebody behind you said something about HP.

The desire for food was certainly…less. But the thought of going home to your empty house to lick your wounds and waking up hungry later with nothing in the cupboards and an out of commission car…that was worse.

“If the offer is still on the table.”

Sans smiled. A voice, droll and dry from behind you, replied, “nah, it’s food that goes on the table.”

You turned slightly. The skeleton who’s seat you’d stolen stepped to the side a little, so you weren’t craning your neck as far to see him. For a long moment you wondered if you should apologise for intruding, or if it wasn’t your fault that things had proceeded as they had.

Stretch was hovering nervously a few feet behind, just inside the doorway. He looked as stricken as a skeleton could, one hand shaking at his side and the other shove into the pocket of his hoodie.

“sans,” the skeleton in front of you said. “sans the skeleton. nice to _meat_ you.”

Oh. Oh _this_ was the Sans. Your Sans – and was it too presumptuous to call him yours? – looked pained, defeated. You pondered briefly over the emphasis in the word ‘meet’.

Still a little delirious, confused, you said the first thing that came to mind.

“No.”

The parka Sans – because he was wearing a parka, indoors no less – reeled back a touch. You hadn’t even realised he’d lifted his hand until it was drooping slightly.

“Sorry,” you added, realising how curt you’d been but not entirely apologetic but… “But to me, this is Sans.” You tipped your head in (your) Sans direction. In your peripherals, he glowed faintly.

“OH MY.” The tall skeleton that wasn’t Stretch or Papyrus lifted a hand to his teeth.

“the sentiment is nice, sweetheart, but we’re a little set in our ways.” (your) Sans pat your knee again, gently squeezing it. “might be time to switch to the nicknames.”

You sucked on the inside of your cheek, knowing what unfairness sounded like. You had the urge to do something drastic, but simply dropped a hand to the one on your knee and squeezed hard enough to feel the bone bite into your soft skin.

“It was Red, right?” you tipped your chin up.

“yea’,” he agreed. You flexed your hand around his, feeling fingers curl gently around yours.

“Just this once,” you acquiesced. “I can’t see my dropping in for lunch again any time soon. Besides.” Your eyes lifted to Sans – the ‘one true Sans’ your mind whispered, sarcasm included – and then met Red’s eyelights dead on.

“Besides, you know where I work. Haven’t anyone to mix you up with there.”

“sugar, now you’re just spoilin’ me.” Red pulled his hand out from under yours as if your death grip was nothing and patted the back of your hand.

“Sorry for the confusion,” you told Sans, still not feeling particularly sorry. “Sans – ah, Red – was the first I’d met. Stands I’d call him by his name.” You jut a hand out. Sans stared, for a long, hot second. You wondered if you’d angered the ‘oldest’ of the Sans and he was about to kick you out.

But his hand swung up and you reached to grab it.

The most horrendous noise erupted in the kitchen and Papyrus – Edge now, if things were similar with him as they were with Red – shrieked.

“YOU STILL CARRY THAT RIDICULOUS DISGUSTING THING WITH YOU?!”

It was a whoopee cushion. Sans, now grinning with mirth, had a whoopee cushion in his hand. Did he just…keep it there?? On the off chance someone would shake hands with him?? You met Red’s defeated expression and he shrugged at you.

“SANS!” The tall, unnamed skeleton. “WE HAVE COMPANY, AND SHE IS A NEW HUMAN FRIEND. HOW CAN YOU BE LIKE THIS?”

“heh, sorry pap.” Sans shrugged a shoulder.

“So you’re the Papyrus,” you greeted the tall one.

“I AM A PAPYRUS,” he agreed brightly, offering you a hand. You took it timidly, expecting an exuberant skeleton like himself to shake it like he was ready to rip your arm from your socket. But he was very gentle, no doubt having seen your episode.

“I’m YN,” you offered in return, and Papyrus beamed at you.

“IT IS WONDERFUL TO MEET YOU! I’M SORRY YOU’RE NOT FEELING WELL. SANS AND I ARE BROTHERS!”

So Red and Edge, also called Sans and Papyrus were brothers. Sans and Papyrus, called Sans and Papyrus, were brothers. The similarities were too close to ignore, but your head hurt, your back hurt and you were still hungry.

“MY TURN!”

Oh. He really did have stars in his eyes. The littler one pushed his way in, offering a hand delightedly. You weren’t sure why you thought he was adorable, but he truly was.

“GOLLY GEE, A REAL HUMAN,” he sighed, shaking your hand just as carefully as Papyrus, as if he had to temper his strength. “I AM THE MAGNIFICENT BLUEBERRY! ALL MY FRIENDS CALL ME BLUE, AND YOU CAN TOO! STRETCH IS MY BROTHER, I’M SORRY HE HURT YOU!”

“It wasn’t him,” you felt compelled to reassure. “I’m just a little sore from some trouble I got into last night.” Your eyes slowly drifted towards Stretch, who still looked a little shaken.

“YOU’RE OKAY NOW THOUGH RIGHT?!”

Before you were forced to answer, Red was shoving Blue aside to take the seat the smaller, stupidly adorable skeleton had had before, so he was sat firmly in the seat next to yours.

“she’s fine,” Red told him, almost gruffly. “right, sweetheart?”

“Well, thanks to you and your brother, yes.”

There was a weird, choked off noise from across the table. When you looked over, Edge was as prim and proper as ever, fingers folded tightly over one another on the table.

“NOW THAT THE INANE GREETINGS ARE OVER,” Edge said imperiously. “I BELIEVE WE WERE DISCUSSING LUNCH.”

“please tell me it’s not lasagne,” Stretch muttered as he slouched into one of the seats at the other end of the table, next to Edge, Blue squeezing in next to him.

The parka Sans sat on your other side, and Papyrus sat at the head of the table, leaving the opposite empty. You wondered if there were eight seats at the table for eight skeletons.

“Are you expecting others?” you asked Red – oh, and how awful it felt to call him by anything but his name – but he shook his head.

“nah. gotta bigger table in the dinin’ room for that. this is the ‘family table’.” The sarcasm was rapt in his voice. You wondered if he even knew he was being so blatant about it.

“Right…” now you felt like even _more_ of an intruder than before. You wondered if it was too late to just stand up and walk. Surely no one would stop you.

Red’s hand dropped gently to the top of your thigh. Anyone else you would have called foul-play, but his palm was light and his fingers were barely resting their weight against you. You lowered a hand to rest gently on top of his, and after a brief finagle, your fingers were loosely intertwined.

God, you hated feeling unsure, confused. It was weakness. You couldn’t afford it except…here in this house, with this skeleton, you had. You squeezed his fingers, almost unable to help yourself.

“you okay?” he asked, his voice a low rumble. It still caught the attention of the others across the table, where Blue and Edge had gotten into a vicious banter of what was better, tacos, or lasagne, while Stretch just slouched further and further into the depths of his seat as they argued over him.

“HOW ABOUT WE ASK YN,” Blue said brightly, leaning across the table towards you, his body nearly toppling into Stretch’s lap. Stretch simply supported a hand on his shoulder, as if he were used to this.

You shrank back in your seat.

“WHAT WOULD A HUMAN KNOW ABOUT GOOD FOOD?” Edge asked haughtily, but you didn’t point out he looked just as interested.

“SO,” Blue continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “BETWEEN TACOS AND – “ he shuddered theatrically. “- LASAGNE. WHICH IS BETTER?”

You looked up at Red for help, but he simply looked defeated again.

“I don’t mind,” you finally said truthfully. “Food is food. Food is fuel. I’ll eat whatever.”

“WHAT A COPOUT ANSWER,” Edge scoffed. It made you feel irrationally angry, but you simply looked down at your lap, squeezing Red’s fingers as you answered quietly, tasting the bite on your tongue, “Must be nice to have a choice.”

Sans sucked in a hard breath between his teeth from beside you. Red’s grip had turned nearly bruising. Edge looked like you’d slapped him. Good.

“how about,” Sans drawled. “i get us some take out.”

“GOOD IDEA!” Papyrus eagerly agreed. “GRILLBY ISN’T OPEN YET SO WE CAN’T HAVE ANY OF THAT GREASY STUFF YOU LOVE SO MUCH AND ENJOY BUT MUFFET’S HAS OPENED A SHOP ALREADY!”

“then it’s agreed.” Sans winked at you. “food is food right? can’t complain about what i get for you.”

“I’M SO GLAD MY LAZYBONES BROTHER IS DOING SOMETHING USEFUL!” Papyrus sighed, leaning his chin into a hand.

“it’s a good choice,” Stretch acquiesced, still so far slouched down it was a wonder he wasn’t in pain. “considerin’ and all.” He glanced at you.

It was unnerving, the way that the various skeletons around the table could look slightly to the side of you, and make you feel as if they were staring into your soul instead.

The table dissolved into idle chatter, if it could be called idle at the volume that the three main talkers held as default. At the very least your painkillers had started to do their job, your head no longer pounding as hard. Your shoulders still felt like that they no longer wanted to be a part of your body, but the rest of you was loose-limbed.

Unbidden, you rolled your head on your neck and heard more than felt something pop. The tension easing away you _definitely_ felt, and made a soft pleased noise, unable to help yourself.

“holy shit,” Red muttered from beside you. His hand had tightened around yours.

You immediately wondered what connotations joint popping had for skeletons. From across the table, Edge was now refusing to look at you, Blue was twisting his hands together and Stretch was even _further_ down in his chair. Your spine wanted to twinge in sympathy.

Papyrus, heavens above, looked flustered. You couldn’t tell what from, and then it clicked.

“Ah. I know it’s gross. My joints get stiff a lot.”

“not gross,” Red’s voice was still a mumble. “opposite.”

What. In. The. _Unholy_. Fuck.

The urge to pop your knuckles one by one to garner a reaction seized you so hard it nearly hurt, but you refrained. You free hand flexed regardless and, as if sensing your thoughts, Red made sure to keep your other hand secure in his.

“you can, uh, do that on command?” Stretch asked, looking both put out and interested.

“Not always,” you finally said after thinking on it. Sometimes you could force them to pop and other times they just stretched to the point of pain and no further, relief out of your reach. “But sometimes if I can I will. Makes things feel a whole lot better.”

You should have chosen your words better. Red was making a noise like a deflating balloon beside you. You’d spouted that out _immediately after_ being told joint popping was likely a sexual thing for skeletons.

This was why you didn’t socialise. Or have friends.

“In a pain relief way,” you added, trying to ease the tension. “Not…any other way.”

“YOU’RE SAYING,” Edge said slowly, still trying to look poised despite the hint of a flush to his cheekbones. “THAT IF YOU DON’T….DO IT. YOU HAVE PAIN.”

“Yes!” you were glad someone understood. “I don’t know how it is for…skeletons in general, but what you heard wasn’t bone. I think someone explained it as air bubbles between joints, or ligaments stretching. Sometimes you can feel tight, have to stretch it…’pop’ and then it’s eased off.”

“air bubbles between joints?” of all of that, that was what Stretch seemed interested in, actually sitting up. “ligaments?”

“truth be told,” Red added, “we thought humans were just skin over bone. coupla organs. meant to look ‘em up when we got here since we don’t know that much yet.”

“But you knew what a concussion was,” you told him, feeling confused.

“well yeah, we get them too.”

You were going to have to ask. It was going to sound immensely, so _awfully_ rude.

“You’ve got a brain?”

Silence around the table. Stretch made a strange ‘hrrk’ noise as if trying to withhold laughter.

“what’s that got to do with it?” Red sounded defensive.

“It’s just…uh, concussions are a brain injury.”

Red immediately went from defensive to borderline horrified. His hand had tightened around yours, as he muttered, “jus’ thought it was skull injury.”

Then, angrier.

“you say someone hit you hard enough for one before?”

Oh. Oh _no_ he was _not_ airing that out in front of a table of strangers. You stared at him, cold and hard, and withdrew your hand from his to fold them both together on the whorl patterned wood.

The table was silent again.

“wow, who died?” Sans voice asked from the doorway, threads of humour in his words.

“My dignity,” you told the table waspishly.

“ah, it shall be missed.” Sans dropped a small, wrapped bag of something in front of you, dispersing similar bags around the table. Next to the bag, he set a takeaway cup. It smelled heavenly.

“wasn’t sure how you took your coffee,” Sans said airily as he sat next to you. “so got you some chocolate, the hot variety.”

You went for that first, and while it was hot on your tongue it was good, suffusing heat to all your limbs, spreading a nice feeling out from your stomach onwards.

At the very least, no one at the table told you the pastries were made of _spiders_ until you’d finished it down to the last bite.

* * *

 “If you think I’m getting on the back of that,” you warned Red, “You can _think again.”_

“as fun as it would be.” Red lifted a hand and clicked the unlock button on the keys he held. Across the garage, a white car briefly lit the space around it. “we’ll be taking this.”

You eyed the bike Red had proudly showed off to you warily but followed him across the room to the white sedan. You tried to imagine Red driving this instead but couldn’t quite do it now you’d seen the bike. He read the expression on your face.

“it’s the car we use for shopping, moving a lotta bodies one place to another. as fun as the bikes and convertibles are, this one’s handy.”

Red opened the door for you. It was a newer model car, probably produced earlier this year or the end of last. You were afraid of touching the inside, rationally knowing you were clean but still irrationally afraid of ruining a good thing, but sat down and buckled in, immediately holding your bag protectively to your chest.

When Red turned the ignition on, the car turning on with a _button_ the music that blared out was abrupt and, to put it lightly, weird.

“fucking papyrus,” Red muttered, punching viciously at the CD eject button and throwing the CD that was spat out into his door pocket. “he always plays his mtt tracks in the car.”

“Interesting.” You offered, and said no more until it came time to giving directions. Red was a surprisingly patient driver and you felt that maybe he was taking the corners easier for the you who was still half a battered mess, despite how good lunch had made you feel.

Every bite of your pastry had had the skeletons trying to take subtle, surreptitious glances at you, and you’d been too invested in your food to wonder why. Now though, you were thinking back on it. You wanted to ask but…you also wanted today to be over, so you could nap the afternoon away ready for work tonight.

“You can drop me off here,” you told him ten minutes later, when he pulled into the road that led to the cul-de-sac you lived on. It would be less than a five minute walk from here, and you moved to unbuckle.

Red’s hand stopped yours, a gentle tap to the back of your hand.

“way i see it, i offered you a lift home. this don’t look like it.”

You didn’t want him to see the decrepit little place you lived in. It made a strange sort of shame and embarrassment twist in your stomach.

“and if you’re afraid i’m going to judge,” Red added, “you’re talking to a guy who, less than half a year ago, lived in a cobbled together shed underground. i ain’t in the place to be making comments.”

That helped but…

“A shed?”

“didn’t get much while livin’ downstairs. wasn’t a hard life. wasn’t really easy either.”

You felt he didn’t want you to pry, so simply moved to hug your bag tight and mumbled, “Second left, then the first right.”

Red followed your instructions, taking the streets slow in preparation for you to tell him to stop. You nearly didn’t, more for the fact you’d seen your house before you’d reached it. It had more decorations than the last time you’d been home, just yesterday morning.

“Here,” you said glumly, staring out the passenger window at the glitter of glass on your grass front yard, one of the windows broken. Someone had spray painted ‘WHORE’ in garish bright pink across the exposed wall, the E taking up half your door.

“shoulda fucking killed him,” Red grit from next to you, his hands so tight on the wheel that something was creaking, either the leather, or him. You unbuckled, feeling numb. This was your stop. This was your house. You had to clean up, patch the window, carry on with your life.

Something inside of you was shrieking past the numbness that someone like _Duncan_ knew where you lived. It was dwarfed by the utter fear that you’d been followed home one night and not realised because who else would have the motivation to vandalise your house in this.

“It’s fine,” you heard yourself saying. “Cosmetic damage.”

Before you could open the door, Red swerved the car up onto the curb in front of your house so he wouldn’t be blocking the road, and was somehow, your eyes couldn’t keep up, was opening the door for you before the car engine had stopped humming.

“You don’t need to do this,” you told him. “I can take care of it.”

“wouldn’t be able to live with myself if i let you go in and fucker’s still in there,” Red said mildly, and the thought that whoever had done this, Duncan or no, was malevolent enough to wait behind until you were home hadn’t even crossed your mind.

It was fine. You were fine. You were determined to be fine. This wouldn’t be what broke you, not today.

You strode ahead of Red towards the house, already rummaging in your bag for your keys. They were caught on the strap of your bra and it made you want to scream with frustration that nothing was easy.

The lock turned, clicking out of place and the door swung open.

The house was blissfully empty, the only sounds the creak and hum of the boiler. Red was behind you every step, like a bony shadow, as you peered into the kitchen. Just an unwashed mug from two days ago and the stagnating apple core you’d forgotten to throw away.

A glance in the bathroom showed nothing amiss.

Your bedroom was a bomb site. Bed sheets strewn about, draws thrown open willy-nilly. You still felt a little cold inside as you spectated. Everything could be fixed. You had nothing of importance, not in your bedroom anyway. You weren’t the type to keep money or jewellery or valuables stashed in your bedroom.

Red was fairly vibrating with anger next to you.

“you should stay somewhere else tonight,” he bit out. “until i can get my hands on his neck and squeeze.”

“It’s fine,” you told him. “People like Duncan just want me to run and be scared. I’m not going to let him see it. This – “ you pointed at your bedroom. “He’s not angry at me. He’s frightened of _you._ ”

“he should be,” Red muttered with venom.

“You should go home,” you wanted to be alone if you were setting up to grieve. So many things had happened in so little time, you just wanted time to hide by yourself and lick your wounds for the precious hours you had alone.

“let me help,” Red replied.

“Please,” you said, voice firmer. “Please, go home. Despite how you obviously feel to the contrary, I know how to look after myself. My window will be covered by the landlord’s insurance. Everything else I can pick up.”

“yn,” Red began, and you whirled on him.

“I want to be alone,” you told him, blunt, almost fierce. “I am going to tidy up while listening to loud music. I’m going to make a phone call. I’m going to get some _goddamn rest_. And I don’t need you here for that.”

Red looked conflicted, a little hurt. It made guilt twist in your stomach, but you didn’t let it overwhelm you.

“your car is bust.” The non-sequitur threw you off, but then Red was grabbing your hand and pressing the keyfob into your palm, forcing your fingers to curl around it. “use this until you’re sorted. our house key is on it if you need to go somewhere."

You made to protest. You didn’t need pity or help or – but Red took two steps back and simply vanished before he reached the living room.

You threw the keys through the space he had been and heard them clatter on the living room floor. You weren’t angry at him, not really, but it felt good to throw something.

Then you threw yourself onto the bed, pressed your face into the pillow, and screamed until it hurt.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to keep track of so many characters and making sure they have screen time is blehhhhh.


	4. Tentatively

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, it was a time for a change anyway. The bar was a shit place to work - but homelessness was going to be shittier if you didn't find another job. Should've thought about it better. Least Red is there with his quips to make the night better for you.

Red stared at his bed, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He’d dropped straight into his bedroom after dropping you off and was still finding it difficult to reel in the anger he’d felt at seeing the state of your house.

Filthy fucking brat, that Duncan was. Red wanted to wring his neck, felt like he should have done more than just given him a fright and stern word, slinging him around like a yo-yo without even hurting him past his pride. He’d been more concerned with your health – the first human to treat him decently passed out in a disgusting parking lot.

The bedsheets were still ruffled from where you’d gotten tangled and then thrown yourself out the bed that afternoon. It felt like a dream.

Red clenched his hands, trying to fight down the urge to go back and just…watch you. Make sure nothing unsavoury crawled into your space while your defences were down, and you felt vulnerable.

The sight of your determined SOUL, pulsing next to you like you constantly felt in a dangerous situation, like you constantly had to fight made something churn uncomfortably inside of him, like a snake caught in his ribcage. You probably didn’t even realise, how your SOUL jumped out every time you felt confronted, cornered, in danger, like you had the ability to claw and fight your way free.

Your LV was low enough but higher than ‘one’ to know you’d been put in danger enough without lashing out terribly much.

He wondered when the last time you’d had full HP was. A determined SOUL it was, but awfully battered, dully glowing when it should have been like a roaring fire and not a dismal ember. Muffet’s food had helped. Red made a reluctant, mental note to thank Sans for his quick thinking. There was a human saying – food was good for the soul. Monster food was doubly so.

Edge would want to know he was home – the others no doubt, nosy bastards they were, would want to know if you’d made it home okay. Red wanted to keep you to himself.

“ah, damnit,” Red muttered, hands leaving his pockets as he sat on the edge of his bed. The mattress creased under his abrupt weight, the pillow rolling into him.

His bed still smelled of you. Something sweet, maybe your shampoo, your body wash. A muskier smell, the sweat of working, a tinge of something boozy – but whether that was him or you he didn’t know.

Red felt shameful when he let himself drop further into the mattress, trying to bury himself in your scent. He shouldn’t, not really. The others would know immediately. But hey. They should know him by now.

He just hoped he could keep the good image up for you – the you, brittle and tender and with a will made of steel, that was now the best thing in his life after only a few hours of exposure.

* * *

 

The phonecall to your landlord had been quick. You’d been staring out of the hole in your window as you spoke, the car taunting you from the road – you should really move it into the driveway where your car normally sat.

For a while you’d had the non-emergency number lit up on your sad phone screen, finger hovering over the call button. Realistically, you should call someone about your house being vandalised, but had eventually decided if you’d told your landlord someone had damaged your house, surely he’d call them himself in order to claim the insurance.

You’d dug out an old bedsheet to use as a tarp, hammering it into the wall to cover the broken window. Each nail going into the wall felt as if they were going into your head instead.

Then you’d set an alarm on your phone, dumped the sweatpants for a pair of underwear, and passed out on the bed for approximately six hours of blissful sleep.

Now, here you were clocking in and Marie was dithering nervously in the doorway that led to the bar.

“Harley wants to see you,” Marie said, her voice soft and almost sad. You guessed she was worried for you.

It was never a fun event when someone had to see Harley. Someone was getting fired, getting stabbed, getting thrown out for good. He was barely taller than you, and you barely touched five foot and seven.

He was a terrifying force of nature to those who crossed him – the reason he could keep a bar and restaurant amalgamation working in the sleazy part of town he operated in.

“Thanks for letting me know,” you told her, and she hovered nervously for a few seconds before you gave her an encouraging smile and passed over a wrapped sweet.

“Good luck,” she whispered, and pushed through the doors to the bar.

You needed all the luck you could get. You didn’t tell her that though. She always looked so concerned and on the verge of some sort of anxiety attack, so you didn’t like to stress Marie out more than she already was.

You had to step through the sweltering bustling kitchen to make your way to the office spaces way, way in the back. Harley went for a little interaction as possible – the rest of it was discrete as it could be, away from the customers and staff alike.

Knocking on the door made you feel like you were back at school, like you were a small girl again waiting to be acknowledged. Thankfully, Harley wasn’t one to wait around or beat around the bush and you were sitting in the chair opposite his desk in nearly no time.

“So uh, not in trouble,” Harley began mildly, and it did nothing to abate the unease in your stomach. He hadn’t looked at you, too preoccupied with the computer he was tapping away at.

“What did you need me for then?” You asked, folding your trembling hands in your lap and keeping your spine ramrod straight, afraid of leaning too far back into the chair to rest your shoulders.

“It’s just a quick question,” Harley said easily, and spun the monitor to face you, finishing with a succinct, “What the fuck?”

The grainy footage on the screen was from the other night. You watched, feeling shell-shocked as you witnessed Red swing Duncan around like an untethered chewtoy without moving a non-existent muscle.

Then it sort of seemed to sink in.

“You were watching on the camera,” you told him, feeling cold. “You saw everything, and didn’t come out.”

“What?” Harley scoffed, and swung his screen back around. “You think I’d’ve had a chance against Duncan? Dude’s a _brickhouse._ I’m more concerned about the fact that the monster you’ve been canoodling with can throw my customers around like errant luggage.”

There were so many things wrong with what he said that you had no idea where to begin. You’d thought the cold was shock. It was anger.

“You were _watching.”_ Your voice was faraway. “Did you even call the police?”

“You think they would have come?” Harley’s voice was sharp, a warning bite to it. “Better yet, you think _I_ would have given them reason to look too closely?”

“You piece of shit,” you said, your voice barely a whisper. “You absolute piece of shit. Not a single good bone in you, is there. It’s garbage all the way down.”

“I’d watch your tone of voice,” Harley went soft then but his face was taut in a way that made your hackles jump up. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you – you might find yourself getting another smack.”

“I can’t believe you,” the anger was burning now, the cold washed away under the fire. Your hands were fisted on your knees.

“Look,” Harley began. “You stop that skeleton from visiting and we won’t have to discuss the term of your contract that lets me dismiss you without prior warning. Think carefully, how many places in this town would hire someone with a record, no questions asked?”

You took a few deep breaths, watching as Harley relaxed, obviously thinking he had won.

You leaned forward, lowering you voice to a hiss.

“The charges were dropped. Don’t forget I got by on _self-defence._ ” You sneered at him. “That means I know how to bash _your fucking face in you piece of trash.”_

You stood, stripping your pinny off in a vicious movement that wrenched your shoulder, slamming it down on the desk. A candy came flying out and it went pinging off into a distant corner of the room.

“I quit. Good luck finding someone stupid enough to cover all the hours I wasted for you,” you spat and felt a sliver of victory on seeing the panicked expression briefly twisting Harley’s face as you spun on your heel and stormed out of the office, letting the door bang into the wall and bounce off as you shoved your way through the kitchen.

“How did it go?” Marie asked, ducking into the employee’s area, having caught you from the bar.

“I’m no longer employed,” you told her brightly, shoving things into your bag. “Might see you tomorrow when I drop my uniform off, but other than that I’m done with this place.”

“He _fired_ you?”

Marie could get shrill. You had never appreciated it, not even now.

“I quit,” you corrected, pulling the keys from your bag. “Turns out, Harley has security cameras on the outside of his building and, uh, did nothing while watching me be assaulted. Didn’t even deny it.”

Marie looked distraught. Maybe you should have sugar coated your words, but it was better she knew what your now previous employer was actually like.

“I mean, are you going to be okay?” she asked, concerned, reaching to nervously grab your elbow.

“I’ve got the café,” you told her, “and I’m sure there are plenty of better options than here.”

“Good luck,” Marie whispered again, leaning in to give you a hug. You went stiff, not entirely receptive of the attention, but pat her shoulder gently.

“Thanks,” you said, with as much meaning as you could muster and wiggled away from her. Oh god, she looked like she was about to cry. You reflexively reached to give her a sweet. It didn’t work out, there was no pinny there.

“You’ll do great,” Marie told you firmly, gently patting her cheeks to try and calm herself. You smiled, tight, and with a quick nod stepped away.

You’d ducked into the bar out of the employee area and was crossing for the front door when you heard your name shouted over the crowd. Harley was beelining for you.

Not today Satan.

Someone caught your wrist, and you were spun around to face Red.

“didn’t think i’d catch you working after everything,” he said roughly. “you on the floor tonight?”

Your eyes darted across to Harley who had stopped his approach at seeing Red.

Red looked between the two of you slowly, appraising Harley probably a little too intensely.

“you doing okay? this, uh, another dunkin’ situation?”

“It’s Duncan,” you reflexively replied at the mispronunciation. Red just looked amused, as if a joke had gone over your head. You hastily added, “Harley was probably coming to discuss the terms of my final paycheck. I quit.” You said it just in case Red got on his case for something.

“and here i thought you were havin’ fun working here,” Red mused, still watching Harley.

“YN,” Harley began. “Maybe we should discuss this in my office?”

“Oh?” you asked pleasantly. “I don’t think so. I’d rather you said what you wanted in the open.”

Harley worked his jaw for a good few minutes, even as you watched him placidly. Red was still loosely holding your wrist.

“I’ll send the final paycheck in the post,” Harley grit out, eyes darting to Red. You briefly wondered how firm Harley would have been if Red hadn’t been with you.

Red seemed to feel the same way.

“seems i’ve got no reason to be givin’ my business here anymore,” Red shrugged a shoulder, eyelights hardly leaving Harley. You shook your wrist free, just to grab his hand in yours. Harley looked extremely put out. Good. It’s what he got for accusing you of canoodling. Who the fuck even used the word canoodling that wasn’t the scandalised mother in a period drama.

You stepped outside before you could spit more angry words, or let Harley twist them back at you.

“yer shaking,” Red told you as you walked in the cold evening towards the car. You’d almost forgotten you were towing him with you. Your mind had drifted to mathematics, trying to figure out how much exactly you’d be earning now that one primary source of income was gone.

“Cold. Adrenaline. Anger. Pick one.” You loosened your hand to let go. Red didn’t.

“you alright?” his voice was soft. It was caring. It made emotion well in your throat. When you turned to face him, you didn’t meet his face, but picked out the cameras that had caught your situation pressed subtly into the walls of the bar.

“So, uh,” you didn’t know how to say this. Red was obviously prone to violence. He’d treated Duncan like a ragdoll without even flinching.

Looking down at your feet, you felt the anger swell.

“Harley saw everything. Security cameras, actually. Caught everything and he just…sat there. If you hadn’t been there I...”

You wouldn’t have let Duncan get away with much. You would have scrapped and fought and struggled. Screamed and clawed your way out, used whatever means necessary.

Red’s hand squeezed yours, but he was looking at the car past you, as if he couldn’t meet your eye.

“no second guessing now,” he told you lightly. “i was there. only person fouled was the one who deserved it.”

“He would have let it happen. Probably wouldn’t even have questioned if I didn’t show up to work after.” The tic in your jaw was going, once. Twice. Three times. You bit your tongue hard enough it hurt.

“hey, hey,” Red said, and his rough timbre was gentle, his hand on yours even more so. “you’re fine now. no need to dwell. need me to get you home again?”

You wanted to say no. You were very, very certain you’d be fine by yourself, shook up as you were. The way he’d been eyeing up Harley before you’d left, and even now after you’d spouted the truth out in anger, well. You didn’t want him getting any ideas.

Red had proved himself at least a little bit trustworthy, right?

Your voice came out weaker than you intended it to.

“Please.”                     

Red squeezed your fingers gently.

“sure thing sweetheart.”

* * *

 

Red’s expression was unreadable as he took in the bedsheet over the window, the car pulling smoothly into the driveway. He’d let you drive after you’d insisted, wanting the mindlessness of driving on dark, quiet roads. He’d watched intensely though, as if needing to make sure you weren’t going to breakdown in the car and swerve off the road.

“not going to get too cold tonight sugar?” he asked, watching it flap gently in the breeze.

“You offering to warm my bed?” you shot back and felt a little bit victorious you’d flustered him for it. “I’ll be fine. The bedroom door shuts. I have many blankets.”

You failed to mention during your bedroom clean up you’d found a suspicious damp patch by your pillow. Even _that_ was too gross for you to want to remember.

You stepped out of the car and retrieved your bag from the backseat. You were determined tonight to give back the keys. Working at the café in the daytime would be a better walking venture than at the bar, and that was the only reason you were concerned for a having a car in the first place.

But as Red got ahead of you and waited impatiently at the door, you felt a twinge of something like…and god, was it embarrassing. You didn’t mind him staying a little longer.

His presence triggered your porch light, the bright pink E thrown into sharp relief.

Suddenly, the thought of spending the night alone in your house after it had been broken into was a scarier prospect than it had seemed that afternoon and while it was probably the adrenaline fading away, it still struck deep.

You unlocked the door, hip-checking Red out of the way with perhaps a little too much vigour if his stagger and laugh was anything to go by.

“nice to see you cleaned up for me,” Red mocked as you dropped the keys on the coffee table and yes, you’d done a bit of a frenzied clean to try and make your house feel like yours again after the intrusion.

But you didn’t have the energy to sass him back or deny it because now the dark corners and darker doorways were, to put it lightly, freaking you out. You’d told Red to get lost, content to be by yourself. That was in the daytime. Now it was.

Maybe you could…

No, no, something in you said, even as you considered it. Considered showing that sliver of _weak._

You can’t afford it, you can’t afford it, _you can’t afford it -_

“Can you stay the night?” you blurted, still stood there even as Red made himself comfortable on your couch. Your heart flew into your throat in an abrupt panic.

You began to babble.

“And I know what I said earlier, how I reacted but – but I was tired, I’m tired now but it was different, I needed to be alone then but now…it’s…it was brighter,” you petered out lamely, sounding ridiculous and stupid and strung out.

“it’s dark now,” Red finished for you. “no skin off my nose sweetheart. ain’t got one.” He winked.

“I shouldn’t have asked,” you said quietly, even as you shut the door behind you. “You have a home to get back to.”

“hey, they ain’t expecting me back any time soon. i’m normally with you or at some bar until fuck-off-o’clock in the morning anyways.”

“You should let them know,” you advised. “Just in case.” Proper families cared where you were, regardless of your habits, right?

“can take care of myself sugar,” Red murmured, but you saw him pull out a phone and wondered how he could text with no pads or skin on his fingers. His phone buzzed several times in the time it took for you to perch next to him.

“so, now that i’ve got permission from my parents,” Red said jokingly. “gotta request for you. know you said no earlier but uh, mind letting me see that back o’yours? i can’t do what the boss does but first aid is first aid and i can see you sufferin’.”

“This is just a ploy to get me shirtless,” you told him bluntly and he laughed, slinging a gentle arm around your shoulders like he was trying to make a move on you. It just felt like an attempt at comfort.

“doll, your shitty boss saw what you went through on camera. i got that shit in hd. just wanna know you ain’t falling apart.”

You leaned back into the cushion of his jacketed arm, his fingertips brushing the top of your shoulder and his thumb hanging by your neck.

“Just the back,” you told him. “Because that’s all you’ve got to see.”

“jus’ the back,” he promised, sounding as sincere as you’d ever heard.

“Two seconds. Keep your eyes shut.”

You watched his face. The eye sockets actually creased down to one another, as if closed eyelids. It was weird, fascinatingly so.

You unbuttoned your shirt and tugged it around until you could shove your arms back through the sleeves and wear it back to front, everything from your neck to your waist covered by the fabric. Tucking a leg underneath you, you rotated to face the bedsheet window, back towards Red.

“Ready.”

“fuck me,” Red breathed and without seeing his face you couldn’t tell what his tone of voice meant. Didn’t sound good either way. A fingertip, gentle and prospective, pressed into the puffy skin of your back and you had to refrain from flinching.

“What’s the verdict, doc?” you asked. The finger trailed down.

“well, apart from ticking off one of my kinks,” Red began, his finger started at the top of a shoulderblade and trailed down until he was midday down your ribcage, finger never leaving your back. “that’s the damage. pretty equal looking both sides, so says doctor red.”

He was being dreadfully, hopelessly light with his touch and your godforsaken body had broken out into goosebumps. Red, thankfully, didn’t seem to know what they meant. To be honest, you weren’t too sure either.

“what in the fuck.”

“Cold,” you supplied, the lie rolling from you easily, and felt the heat that had been leaning into your personal space from behind draw back.

“stars, that’s weird.” Red gave a rumbly laugh. “eyes are closed. do what you gotta.”

You tucked your shirt back around and buttoned haphazardly, enough to get the shirt closed well enough and so no skin was exposed.

“so how we setting up? you leavin’ me out here to be guard dog?”

Ughhhh your pride was taking a battering today. Red was looking past you again. Maybe you should have gotten a tarp instead of throwing a bedsheet up there.

“I have…a double,” you made out slowly. “But I prefer being closest to the wall.”

“i can stay out here,” Red told you softly. “it was a joke. don’t want to corner you.”

“I prefer being closest to the wall,” you repeated, and Red eased back into the couch, face doing this inexplicable thing you simply could not read because bone did not move like skin.

“makes me closest to the window and door?” he asked and when you nodded, his voice was vicious as he replied, “good.”

“I haven’t got anything that’ll fit you as nightwear,” you warned him and he waggled his brows at you.

“you want me naked jus’ say.”

You perhaps contemplated what he had underneath his clothes for too long because he started to sweat. Honestly though, was it just a skeleton underneath all that? Was nudity as weird to skeletons if they didn’t have any visible parts to them? He had a tongue, did he have other  - and whoa, too far now.

“i’m joking,” Red hastily said into your silence. “i’ll pop home, in an’ out, when you get ready. two seconds tops.”

“Sorry, I was just…not going to go there,” you decided, leaning back into the sofa, pressing your hand over your eyes. Red’s arm slung its way back over your shoulders, and this time his knuckles gently rubbed against the side of your throat and top of your shoulder.

You thought maybe it would be unpleasant, but the bone had no sharp edges and it instead felt quiet the opposite, a soft gentle feeling. It made you feel the hefty weight of tiredness even more, your eyes drooping as the two of you sat in companionable silence.

“c’mon sweetheart,” Red said to you softly, voice breaking into you doze. “your bed’s gotta be a whole lot comfier than this set up now you’ve got time to sleep in it.”

“And you’ll be right back?” you asked, throatier than you meant, the feeling of sleep caught in your throat.

“lickety split,” Red dared to lift his hand slightly from your shoulder, thumb pressing into your jaw gently and swiping back and forth in a soothing motion. It had been a long, long time since someone had been gentle like this with you. It made your heart ache and you quickly staggered to your feet, feeling Red’s hand a gentle support on the small of your back.

“by the time you’re dressed and openin’ that door again, i’ll be back. just…” Red heaved himself from the couch. “lemme check first. coulda come back during the night. never know with those types of scumbags.”

“Sure,” you murmured, scrubbing at your eyes and watching him walk to the bedroom. Duncan, or whoever, they weren’t dumb enough to return right? You considered the clientele of Harley’s and amended your answer to a maybe.

“all clear sugar,” Red told you, and you ambled into the bedroom, ready to rid yourself of the uniform once and for all. Red hadn’t moved from just inside the doorway, looking at the folded clothes on the dresser.

“want me to take them back real quick with me?” he threw a thumb in their direction.

“I’ll clean them first,” you looked down at your feet and muttered, “Slept in the sweater so that definitely needs to go in the wash.”

“we can wash ‘em,” Red assured, reaching out for them. But the sweatpants had touched your bare _everything_ so you quickly shook your head, tapping his arm with the palm of your hand.

“I’ll clean them. I said I would. Besides,” you said, airily, “Stop taking away my excuse to come visit.”

“oh? oh, oh, oh?” Red was grinning now. You shouldn’t have said anything. “you ever need an excuse to visit, remember the excuse can be just me.”

“Oh, shut up and let me get dressed,” you replied, with less heat than the bite of your words implied. Red was still grinning as he stepped away and vanished.

Stupid magic skeletons with their stupid vanishing magic and their stupid smiles. Their stupid soft touches and softer words.

You shut your bedroom door and tugged out some old sweatpants that belonged to you and a worn, comfortable shirt, your regular set up. Your regular set up was no sweatpants, but the bedsharing you’d implied wouldn’t really allow for that.

True to his word, by the time you’d let your hair down and brushed out the tangles, Red was on the other side of the door when you eased it open, a bag over his shoulder.

“Don’t get comfortable,” you warned him. “Got to brush my teeth first.”

“go and do your weird human routine,” he waved you off. “i’m old enough to get myself sorted.”

“If you go through my underwear drawer, all bets are off.”

You left Red to his spluttering, stepping into the bathroom. You left the door open, keeping the quiet noises of him getting ready as background noise, the flashes of shadow of his movements as a calming measure.

For now, in this moment, you weren’t alone.

For once, in a long time, you felt a little peaceful. Relying on someone wasn’t too bad after all.

Red watched from the doorway of your bedroom as your HP plinked up by one and your SOUL finally calmed enough to slip away. He vowed to himself to never to do anything to betray the trust you had for him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the opening part was originally waaaayyy more explicit than Red just rolling around in the bed covers because he's slightly perverted and thinks you smell good. But I felt it was too soon too creepy l m a o


	5. Breakfast-Dinner Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red is good at dicking with you. He's also good at being a pretty decent guy - to you, at least. Edge could do with learning some lessons in manners from him.

It had been maybe six months since Sans had fucked up and dragged many several alternate universe skeletons into this one, and for the first time during that, Red felt like thanking him.

Sure, life on the surface had been nice, easy, gentle. He’d finally relaxed, and his brother no longer felt like he had to follow the ‘shoot first ask questions later’ mentality. But Red hadn’t been happy to be here, following rules, not able to use his own _goddamn name._

But then there’d been you.

Even now he watched as you slept, looser in sleep than in life. You’d started off tucked against the wall, back to the rest of the room, to _him_ and it was such a subconscious, priceless piece of trust that Red had early choked on it. You were facing him now, that trust following you into your sleep.

He’d never slept much, not even in the before. Not even in the peace of surface life, of a timeline where you didn’t have to fight to survive or watch your words if you didn’t want to be stabbed.

You were gentler now you’d dozed off, in _his_ presence no less. Just watching your peaceful face, the blatant trust, he could feel his previous sins crawling on his back. But Red was careful, as he reached out.

He tucked one arm under your head, strands of hair slipping between bone and making him shudder. The other loosely rest over your waist, until he could slowly press himself closer. He was a tad smaller than you, but damn did he make it work, making sure that you were pressed into him.

Anything that wanted to get close to you would have to get through Red first.

He’d tear them to shreds before they made it.

Your new position had you steadily breathing against his collarbone; he was clad in a loose shirt that rustled with every breath. As if sensing the close proximity, as if knowing who it was, you’d pulled yourself closer and Red found himself holding the breath he didn’t really need.

Your soft head found its way under his chin, a knee pressing between his, wriggling until your sleep-self found a comfortable position.

Even in sleep you were precious.

The thought of anything hurting you made Red’s magic want to crackle, his eyelights already illuminating the wall behind your back.

He was no stranger to hurt. Knew you’d been through it and come back out the other side.

Knew that if anyone tried to hurt you again, they’d probably find themselves facing him shortly after.

Red had the face of your boss. Knew how to step into the gaps between places, knew how to be _careful._

You were soft in sleep but otherwise tempered hard by the world that had treated you poorly.

Red would right every wrong. If it involved blood, well. He had enough of that on his hands already. A little more wouldn’t make a lick of difference.

* * *

 

You woke up in a tangle of blankets and pure, unadulterated fright.

It had been a long enough time that someone had shared a bed with you that you knew it was wrong. The last person to be there hadn’t been there long.

You were trapped against the wall, an arm loose but heavy over your waist, your leg trapped between two others.

It took a few moments for you to catch up, a sleep-rough voice speaking nonsense into your ear.

The night before. Walking out. Red. Getting home. Red. Getting ready for bed after a bout of terror of being – not abandoned, left alone. Red.

Red, Red, Red.

“Sorry,” you whispered hoarsely, eyes opening to have you coming face to face with a literal collarbone. Your hands were clenched so tightly in his shirt that you’d managed to wrap your fingers fully around one of the ribs hidden underneath.

“s’alright,” Red rumbled, feeling as if he were all around you. “you’re a limpet in your sleep. didn’t want to disturb you.”

You couldn’t remember if you’d dreamt. If the terror currently making your heart rabbit and your skin sweat was from the vestiges of sleep, or the half-forgotten memory of someone else in your bed who shouldn’t be there.

You slowly loosened your fingers from the rib, and Red flinched gently. Another apology was ready to eke itself from between your lips, but suddenly it was Red who was saying sorry.

“s’hard to not react when you grab like that,” he said, his intent clear in his voice – purely apologetic. “these old bones don’t know the difference.”

Another skeleton sex thing. And you’d triggered it in your sleep. Note to self – don’t touch the ribs, it is a skeleton bone-zone.

Fuck were your sleep addled thoughts weird.

“You got a boner?” your stupid brain vocalised itself.

“a _what?_ ” Red sounded genuinely perplexed. “a bone? bon _er?”_

You completely extricated yourself from his warm form and threw an arm over your face, blocking out the light filtering through the blinds and the embarrassment in one go.

“Human slang,” you managed to grit. “For, uh, morning arousal? God, please tell me you know what a dick is.”

“uh, i have one, so sure. definitely know what that is.” Red sounded amused now, and you peeked at him to see him propped on an elbow, watching you. You’d managed to steal all of the blanket and he was just there in his shirt and shorts. How embarrassing.

“A boner,” you said slowly, wondering if you were still dreaming because a skeleton, in your bed, knew what a dick was _and apparently had one_. “It’s when a guy gets random arousal first thing and the dick says good morning.”

And then Red was hysterical. He was laughing so hard you thought he might be sick if that was a possibility of magic skeleton anatomy.

“I just thought,” you said defensively. “You said that and I thought maybe you had – but obviously you don’t.”

“that’s a _thing?”_ Red was still guffawing. “how have the poor guys of this species lasted so fuckin’ long if the first thing they do in the morning is get a hard on?”

It was too, too early to have a conversation like this with your skeleton bed mate.

“It’s a thing,” you agreed tiredly. “Thanks for not poking me with your skeleton dick first thing.”

“oh man, human guys do that?”

“At this point I’d expected it,” you said honestly, and while you meant it lightly, Red must’ve taken it the wrong way because his mirth was gone.

“hey, i know i’m not a stand-up guy but i ain’t like that. scout’s honour.”

“How the fuck do you know what scout’s honour is, but not a boner?” it was too early to be this confused.

But Red was grinning all of a sudden and it made sense in your brain two seconds later.

“You knew exactly what a boner was!” you cried out, indignant, and you shoved him out of the bed. You were sure Red let you, but it was a victory nonetheless. “You little shit!”

Red was laughing so hard from the floor you’d worry he’d pull a muscle if he had any. Instead you rolled into the side of the bed he’d had and groped for your phone where it had been left charging on the bedside locker.

Your stomach dropped briefly at the time, knowing you were late for work. Your rational mind told you that you’d already been approved for time off. It was paid for. You were safe for now.

Red was suddenly not laughing, his gaze averted. It made you realise that sometime during the night you’d kicked your sweatpants off and your legs and underwear were free for all the world to see.

“mind if I use your kitchen?” he asked, eyelights watching the far wall intently.

“If you can find anything in it, sure.”

Red clambered to his feet.

“great. and, for the record. yeah. know what a boner is. don’t get one spontaneously just for wakin’ up in the morning. not unless you ask for it.”

“I gathered that,” you told him, a little shrill, still embarrassed. “Now get going you asshole.”

And then you huffed a pillow at him and missed because you could suddenly hear his cackling laughter in the kitchen.

The sudden domesticity gave you a bone deep chill, and you stared down at the chipped phone in your hand, other hand curling across your stomach.

He’d stayed to keep you safe, not for anything else. It was fine.

The bitter part of you wondered why he even cared but it was too early or rather, you’d just gotten up and weren’t in the mood to be so grumpy.

“your kitchen is uh, pretty pathetic,” Red said from the doorway and fuck if he hadn’t just startled you, your phone dropping to the floor with an audible thud.

“Yeah, I know,” you replied. “Haven’t had a chance to go shopping yet.” It was too early to be feeling this defensive.

Red was looking to the side of you, probably trying to make it look like he wasn’t staring at your bared legs.

“breakfast out, my treat?” he offered. “if you found you didn’t mind the taste of spiders muffet’s is open. there’d be other options but uh.” Red gestured to himself, self-depreciatively. “not many places like to serve somethin’ like me in the daytime.”

“You don’t have to,” you told him quietly. “I can just go shopping and have breakfast – or lunch – later.”

“my treat,” Red repeated. “i mean, we didn’t even have dinner before you got me into bed, i think we missed a couple of steps.”

“Surely if I’m the one who’s invited you home I’m the one paying for dinner,” you muttered, tugging your sweatpants back on. They were back to front. You did not care.         

“societal convention can be whatever we want it to be.” Red shrugged lackadaisically. “but if you ain’t hungry, i won’t push.”

He pushed his argument in a really stupid but convincing way. You looked at the time on your phone and realised you had nowhere to be for the rest of the week, out sick on one job and already finished with the other.

“Breakfast sounds really good,” you muttered.

“i know it does,” Red sounded smug. You threw a second pillow at him for that, and enjoyed the splutter as it hit his face.

* * *

 

Muffet was a giant spider and she was dressed in such a way you felt somehow inadequate. No matter what you did, that amount of lace or gothic-victorian style would not suit you, but you tugged at the sleeve of your jacket regardless, feeling woefully underdressed.

“Oh, Red,” Muffet purred. “What have you brought me today.”

A hand closed over your shoulder, Red standing firmly next to you.

“jus’ a friend of mine. know you got the best eats in town after grillbz so thought we’d check it out.”

“Your hot chocolate is nice,” you added, trying to ease the weird tension that had somehow developed.

Muffet immediately and suddenly leaned back, all of her arms disappearing back over the counter. She seemed at ease now. You realised she must have been concerned and worried about a human in her very much monster run establishment.

“I’m not sure I’ve seen _you_ before lovely,” she told you, and it seemed as if two eyes were on Red as the rest were on you.

“Oh, I haven’t been here myself, I don’t live close enough, but I’ve been around Sans’ before and the…other Sans, he brought some back.”

Red next to you jolted, his fingers squeezing your shoulder. All of Muffet’s eyes had drifted to Red at that, and her voice was delighted as she asked, “Really?”

A sense of dread hit you, and Red’s hand dropped to yours.

“don’t worry,” he said, abating your ease, “muffet knows the score. about the family.”

“Oh, I do,” Muffer waved a hand. “Skeleton politics, all weird. Family even weirder. What can I get for you today?”

“you liked what sans got you last time?” Red asked you lowly.

“It was a bit sweet,” you admitted. It _had_ been nice, but maybe too sugary for your tastes. Anything like that first thing for breakfast was bound to make you sick.

“We got plenty on the menu lovely,” Muffet assured you. “You want some of the hot chocolate again?”

“Oh, just coffee today please,” you asked, and when she asked how you liked it you were lost for a second before settling on just a plain latte. When she stared at you intently for about twenty seconds, you grudgingly asked to have it vanilla.

It was hard to make a decision, and as you were looking through the menu there was a huff of startled breath behind you.

“didn’t expect to see _you_ here red.”

“Good morning, Stretch,” you greeted as the tall skeleton slouched over to you. Red was bristling at your side, and you wondered if it was so weird for him to be here. You supposed with his attire, a pastry-café-coffee shop wasn’t his normal hangout.

“mornin’.” Stretch nodded.

“I’ll bring your clothes back sometime this week,” you added, “I’ve got free time, so I’ll text Sans when I’m coming over.”

Stretch looked at you for a long moment, and you wondered if it was your free use of Sans. Instead he dug a hand in a pocket and held out his phone.

“no need to bother red, can just let me know.”

“hey, don’t bother _her_ ,” Red interrupted. “she can jus’ text me.”

Muffet was tittering behind the counter and you abruptly felt cornered. You’d be offending _someone_ no matter your choice, either someone you’d just met and would be forced to interact with in the future, or someone you were now vaguely close with.

It felt like everyone was watching you now.

“you know,” Red finally relented quietly. “might not always be available if you’re in need of something. go ahead yn.”

That was such a flip around that you looked over at him. He wasn’t looking at you, but Stretch was, both of them with unreadable expressions.

You gingerly accepted the unlocked phone and typed in your number, saving it under your own name. If he wanted to nickname later that was his choice. Your own phone buzzed not a minute later.

 **(Unknown):** yo.

You quickly saved the number under ‘Sweatpants’ feeling too tired to come up with anything witty.

 **(xxx):** Got it.

You saw him double check his phone when your confirmation text came through.

“You want to order first?” you asked him. “I’m still trying to decide.”

You stepped aside and let Stretch step forward and order easily, already knowing what he wanted.

“blue offering to make breakfast tacos?” Red asked sympathetically now the tense air had eased off.

“yup,” Stretch drew the syllable out. “decided to uh, pick something up instead. wouldn’t come home if i were you, think that your bro wants to make dinner tonight.”

You thought quietly to yourself as the two of them discussed alternative dinner opportunities, wondering how much you had saved in your account and the myriad of bills you had shoved in a drawer in the kitchen.

“If you can pardon the intrusion,” you began slowly, feeling your heart begin to leap. “Would Papyrus – “ Stretch jolted and you hurriedly amended, “ – Edge, would he be too proud to let me cook you dinner tonight as thanks for helping me?”

Dead silence.

The two of them looked at each other intently for a very long time. Muffet slowly slid a coffee cup across the counter at you while they silently communicated and you murmured a soft thanks. You could taste the bitterness over a slight hint of vanilla.  It was nice. You told Muffet so and she smiled, winking at you with the eyes on one side of her face.

After a while, Red sighed.

“you’re making it damn hard to keep you to myself sugar but feel free to plead your case to the boss.”

“it’ll be interesting for sure,” Stretch agreed, accepting the bag Muffet handed over.

“Oh, do you want a lift?” you asked Stretch. “I can drop you off as well, if you like Sans?”

“you that eager to get rid of me?” Red sounded amused, but his eyelights did something weird at the call of his name, bouncing a little in the sockets, a little brighter than before. “don’t worry about – “

“sounds great,” Stretch agreed, and sunk into a nearby chair, pulling a lollipop out of his pocket and making direct eye contact with Red as he unwrapped it and stuck it in his mouth so only the stem was visible.

“Damn fools,” Muffet sighed from behind you. You just felt like something was going over your head. You felt that a lot around the skeletons you’d met so far.

* * *

 

“hey,” Red said, pointing something out to you as you drove. He’d claimed shotgun immediately after you’d finished the wonderful croissant you’d had at Muffet’s. The coffee had done wonders, and you felt wonderfully full and energised after the breakfast.

“pull over in there.”

“You need to go shopping?” you asked, car swinging slowly into the carpark of the grocery store.

“i mean,” Red said slowly, “yer cooking dinner. let us buy the ingredients at least. you ain’t feeding two or three people. there’s gonna be seven, providing you stay.”

“I need to go shopping later anyway,” you protested. “I can pay.”

“go shopping now,” Red replied easily. “get your stuff for yourself, and the stuff for tonight. saves the trips. besides, this is our contribution to dinner.”

“I suppose,” you agreed reluctantly. “But do any of you have allergies I should be aware of?”

“that’s a human thing, don’t worry. magic takes care of us when it comes to uh, exotic food. boss’ lasagne included i s’pose.”

“Exotic?” you dared to ask as you turned the engine off.

“bit much vinegar. bit much glass. bit much salt,” Stretch supplied. “maybe a bit of cardboard from the packaging if you need your protein. he's getting better tho, him, blue, papyrus.”

Um. Uh. You decided it was safer not to ask.

“Any like, unfavourite foods? Don’t want anybody to feel excluded.” You walked across the carpark, well aware you were being eyed up by other customers because of the two skeletons looming over you.

Red stepped up alongside you, and like he didn’t even know he was doing it, his hand settled gently on your lower back.

The small, stupid part of your brain said ‘support skeleton’. You managed to refrain from laughing out loud, and you were given a welcome distraction in the noise Red made when Stretch was the one to grab a trolley form the bay.

“jus’ make what you feel comfortable with,” Red decided, still watching Stretch with great suspicion. Stretch was leaning over the trolley as he pushed it, back arched in such a weird position you felt greatly uncomfortable at just watching.

“Not lasagne though, huh?” you asked and watched as both of them reflexively shuddered. One mother moved her child to the far side of the aisle and quickly scurried away, even as her little girl looked on in wonder.

“don’t forget to pick up your own stuff,” Red reminded you as you picked through ingredients. One part of you was wondering if you should get something for dessert. A box of cake mix went into the trolley, along with a bag of sugar from the same aisle – you were running low.

You normally hesitated with the fresh produce but with actual real bonafide time at home you decided to pick some up, vegetables and fruit, eggs and milk that wasn’t heat treated to last longer.

“you tryna feed the world or something?” Stretch asked as the trolley piled higher and higher, and you hunched your shoulders. It wasn’t your fault you hadn’t the time to spend shopping.

“kitchen’s pretty bare,” Red defended you. “don’t get on her case for stocking up when she’s got the chance.”

“I’ve just got bad time management,” you muttered back, “With work I don’t much time to myself to go shopping or, you know, anything else.”

“sorry,” Stretch finally said after a moment’s quiet. “should watch my mouth sometimes.”

“only sometimes?” Red ribbed, and the two of them started squabbling behind you as deliberated whether you wanted white bread or seeded. Both had their merits.

“Disgusting,” someone muttered from down the aisle. A man, watching with disdain as Stretch and Red had their playful argument. You slowed down until they caught up, taking the initiative to lean into Red’s side. He looked at you for a second, but his arm went around you without hesitation to support you before he continued listing off what sounded like Stretch’s every single fault in a gleeful tone of voice. Not a serious fight.

You stared directly at the man, even as you leaned further into Red, grabbing onto his jacket. It was enough to get him flustered enough to shoulder by, bumping you a little as he stormed past.

“y’alright?” Red asked, glancing over his shoulder at the retreating man with the same intensity he’d afforded Harley the night before.

“Yeah,” you mumbled back. “He was a jerk.”

“most are,” Red replied quietly. Stretch went quiet as well, pushing the trolley slightly ahead of you and still leaning at a ridiculous angle. He came to an abrupt stop, staring at something on the shelf.

His shoulder lifted and fell as if he were deliberating something and you watched, with a detached sort of humour, as he took nearly an entire row of bottles of honey, sweeping them into the trolley.

“Don’t tell me…” you began.

“drinks it,” Red finished your through. “jus’ like me an’ my mustard. sans – the uh, that one – drinks ketchup. both of them are gross.”

“All of it is gross if you ask me,” you finally decided. “But if I come across any of you that drinks hot sauce by the bottle, I’m out. That’s too crazy, even for me.”

“crazier than a bunch of talking skeletons?”   

“Stuff is lethal,” you responded. “Everything else, fine. You drink a bottle of hot sauce, you’re the real monster here.”

“i’ll keep that under consideration,” Red sounded mirthful. You wondered if there really was one of them that drank hot sauce by the bottle.

When you got to the checkout, between the two of them they piled the groceries onto the conveyor belt faster than you could begin to separate yours from what Red had deemed as what he would pay. But Red gave the cashier the go ahead to start scanning and ignored the glare you gave his skull as he started sweating and piling the groceries into bags to go back into the trolley.

The numbers climbed, but you were sure you could pay them – though you were sure by this point that Red wasn’t intending to let you pay for anything to begin with. That was fine. When the receipt was spat out you managed to snatch it. Two minutes and a calculator and you’d be paying him back easy.

While he hadn’t let you separate them before, you noticed that he’d tucked the food you’d declared was for dinner that night into different bags already. Bastard could have sorted it out any time before diving in with his card and still sweating.

“he jus’ likes to take care of people,” Stretch told you, and you flinched because he’d leaned down from behind to say it into your ear. He wasn’t apologetic as he continued, “looked after his edge from a babybones, that uh, urge to look after someone don’t just go away.”

“Oh? Are you speaking from experience?”

Stretch’s eyelights darted to the side as you turned to face him, arms crossed. You guessed he was watching Red organise the groceries to fit perfectly into the trolley.

“yeah,” he muttered finally, gaze dropping to yours and it made you feel weird, because you’d seen that look in Red’s face too. “yeah, i am.”

* * *

 

“I need to come in to ask Edge if he’s willing to let me help cook, so you might as well give me a bag,” you said, arms crossed as Red gathered bags into his arms.

“uh, about that. gonna ask the boss on your behalf. don’t want him getting too… _abrupt_ with ya.”

“You already said it was fine, and that he wasn’t prone to violence,” you rebutted, snatching the last bag before he could and slamming the trunk of the car.

Stretch had dug out another lollipop.

Before Red could stop you, you were already stepping up the path towards the front door. Man, was this house big. You’d not appreciated it before, having left via the garage.

Now was not the time for hesitation. You knocked your knuckles on the door, even as Red grumbled behind you about having keys and that the door wasn’t locked.

The door swung open and Blue was standing there. You noted his eyes weren’t stars this time.

“OH!” he sounded excited though. “YN! YOU CAME TO VISIT!”

“Just to drop some things off with Red and Stretch,” you agreed quietly. “And I’ve got something to ask Edge.”

“HE’S IN THE GAME ROOM! LET ME SHOW YOU!” Blue reached for your arm and you pulled it back automatically. Blue looked at you silently for a long second and you were worried you’d upset him.

“let her put the groceries in the kitchen bro,” Stretch advised, squeezing past you towards his brother.

“O-OF COURSE!” Blue was flustered then. “SORRY ABOUT THAT! TO THE KITCHEN FIRST!” This time he didn’t make a grab for you, though by the way you could feel Red looming you doubt he would have tried again.

He did, however, hold his fingers outstretched, and with a moments hesitation you plonked the bag into his palm, letting the handle roll off your fingers into his. He beamed at you.

“THIS WAY!” he declared cheerfully, and you followed him despite the fact you no longer had the burden of a bag in your hand. You turned to Red, to see if he needed a hand, but he was already trudging past you.

Somewhere along the way, Stretch had gone.

“NOT THAT I’M NOT THANKFUL,” Blue began, “BUT WE HAVE PLENTY OF FOOD. WE DON’T NEED YOU TO BUY US GROCERIES, WE’RE FINE!”

“If I can appeal to, uh, Edge’s better nature – “ Blue and Red snorted in tandem. Red you’d expected. Blue you had not. “ – Then I’ll be cooking dinner for you all tonight. As thanks for letting me stay, and for lunch. And for Edge doing his magic healing thing to my face.”

With a crinkle of plastic and a thud, the bag in Blue’s hand hit the floor. Thankfully you hadn’t brought anything particularly breakable.

“ _EDGE??_ HEALED YOU?? _HELPED YOU??_ ” Blue sounded so absolutely completely bewildered that you didn’t know how to respond as he turned to face you.

“hey, the boss ain’t so bad to leave someone in need,” Red said defensively. But after a moment’s pause, he said, “but yeah, i didn’t expect to him agree to it either.”

“What?” you asked. “You mean, you didn’t even expect him to help but still asked anyway?”

“was worth a shot,” Red shot back at you, even as Blue retrieved his bag, the contents thankfully still in place. “your face looked like, i don’t even know. a black purple mess of ugh.”

“Charming,” you surmised as your small troupe carried on down the hallway. “You got away with it because I induce pity with my face.”

“you induce _something_ with your face,” Red muttered.

Uh, what??

“What?”

“oh, look, we’re here!” Red dropped his bags on the kitchen table, rifling through them. “i’ll sort this out. you need a chat with the boss right?”

He was blushing again. Bone blushing. He was also refusing to make eye contact with you.

“And what was that about asking him on my behalf?” you leaned in. Red was _very_ flustered.

“blue’ll be there,” Red muttered. “boss is all bark, no bite. you’ll be fine.”

You leaned back again as Red started dropping groceries on the table, separating them.

“Make sure the chicken goes on the bottom shelf,” you reminded him, and looked over to Blue, who immediately looked away as he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“ARE YOU READY TO SEE THE GAME ROOM? IT’S MY FAVOURITE ROOM!”

“Sure. Lead the way.”

Blue nattered to you all the way, even bashfully answering your question regarding the stars in place of the normal shape of his eyelights last time – he’d been excited to see a human, enough to change the shape of his eyelights. You wondered if Red’s could do that.

But the walk was short, and you didn’t get as many answers as you’d liked, having to answer just as many questions you’d asked.

“HERE WE ARE!” Blue declared, swinging open the door. “OH, HEY PAPY!”

Stretch was in one armchair, limbs akimbo, a book in his hand. In another, was Edge.

“Good morning,” you greeted. Edge was simply staring at you as if you had two heads.

“WHAT IS IT DOING HERE?” he addressed Blue.

Blue hesitated.

Diving headfirst it was.

“As thanks for the other day,” you said quietly, angled carefully so you could see him but also down the hallway. “I’d like to make dinner for you and your family. Tonight.”

“LET YOU? COOK?”

You dipped your head in a nod.

“YOU MUST BE ADDLED – “

You froze where you were stood, clenching your hands into fists. Blue made a strange, wounded little noise next to you.

“BUT SO LONG AS I AM ALSO INVOLVED IN THE PREPARATION, I SUPPOSE I SHALL HAVE TO RELUCTANTLY ACCEPT YOUR THANKS. DINNER WILL BE FOR SIX SHARP. I EXPECT YOU HERE AT FOUR TO BEGIN.”

That went…better than expected, despite the sharp insult he’d initially barked out.

“Then,” you offered a weak smile. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”

Edge just lazily tossed his head and went back to the notebook he’d been rigorously scribbling in before your arrival.

“DO YOU WANT TO STAY A LITTLE LONGER?” Blue asked hopefully as he led you back into the kitchen.

“No thank you. I’d like to go home and do some things of my own.”

You needed to look for another job. Find out how much you owed Red. Pay some bills if you could. Set up a time with your landlord to look at the window.

Should _not_ have agreed to cook dinner. But you didn’t like unpaid debts.

“ready to go sweetheart?” Red asked when you reached the ktichen. “it go well?”

You nodded, and before you could curb the urge, you slowly, carefully leaned forward. Red seemed to see your intentions, because he went lax and let you reach in to hug him. Only when you made contact did he hold you back.

“See you at four,” you mumbled as you let go. “Hope you like stir-fry.”

As you left, you heard Blue say, in what he probably thought was a whisper, “I WISH I GOT A HUG.”

You didn’t even try to dwell on that.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Motivation to write comes and goes. Red is uh, pretty protective. Ain't nobody looking at you funny no more with him around. Stretch is beginning to believe in the cause - but Red is president of the 'nobody fucks with reader' club.


	6. Dinner is Served

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Red ever learned about boundaries, you'd surely be surprised. Cooking with Edge is civil, to a degree. Sans is woefully cryptic. You just want to get out alive.

You had less than three hours to sort your shopping out and then yourself in order to help make and possibly have dinner with a number of skeletons. You left the bags of food on the counter tops, quietly comfortable with how full it made your kitchen look.

Then you dug out your phone and googled the nearest garage company. Dialling the number, you held your phone to your face, other hand rummaging through the bags.

“Oh, hi,” you replied amenably when the standard spiel had been rattled off by the receptionist or mechanic on the other end. “I was just wondering how much it would cost to tow a car from – “ you rattled off the address of the café, “ – to your garage?”

There was mumbling on the other end and the number that emerged was, thankfully, in the double digits and not triple as you feared.

“Could you get it soon as? Oh, the number plate? Sure, two seconds.” You had paperwork, your mind a sieve for simple things like numbers. “Here we go.” You gave the chipper man on the other side your number plate and make and model of car.

There was a long silence, long enough that you pulled the phone from your face. The seconds ticked up, signalling the call was still active.

“Hello?” you asked cautiously, and the man cleared his throat, giving you news that you couldn’t quite comprehend. “It’s…already there? Can I – can I ask who asked you to tow?”

Two minutes later, you were angrily tapping at the screen of your phone, the mechanic’s reply of ‘Sans, a skeleton’ exactly what you did expect and entirely what you didn’t want.

**(xxx):** _you had my car towed?_

**RedHot:** _whoops? ;)_

You told yourself your phone wouldn’t survive being thrown.

**(xxx):** _they told me repairs were covered. Explain that?_

**RedHot:** _self explanatory?_

He was being purposefully obtuse. You resisted the urge to scream and stabbed at the screen to initiate a call. He immediately rejected it. Asshole.

**(xxx):** _I can pay for my own things. When they give the bill, tell me._

**RedHot:** _;)_

You paced, aware you had stuff that needed to be packed into the freezer but also irrationally angry. Sans – Red – probably thought he’d done a nice, good thing. It made you feel babied. Somehow inept.

**(xxx):** _how did you find the café?_

**RedHot:** _gave them the # plate. they did the rest_

You rang the garage back up and told them in no uncertain terms that you were the owner of the car, and when the bill for repair came through to contact you and not whatever details Red had left. Given that the car was in no uncertain terms _your_ property, they had no trouble with that and give it a day or two you’d have the estimate.

**(xxx):** _thank you for the help. Next time consult me before you mess with my stuff._

**RedHot:** _aye aye_

The anger still simmered a little, but if Red wanted to burn his money, let him. You’d figure a way to pay him back, or at least let yourself feel a little less indebted. You were a grown woman damnit. You paid taxes and bills and rented your own place.

The frustration ebbed. Getting worked up would just make you tired, would trigger a headache. You instead organised your groceries, mind ticking over how you planned to pay Red back for both the food and the car.

You left the cake mix out as you stuffed your fridge-freezer and cupboards alike with probably more food than you needed but knew you’d probably eat at some point.

When the counters were clear you picked the box up and read the instructions. You knew how to cook simple stuff but baking was easy measurements and a recipe that didn’t entail half a website page of backstory.

It needed eggs. You had those. It needed some milk. You had that too. Recommended but not required, butter, sugar. All the good stuff.

An hour later you had a somewhat lopsided but perfectly serviceable cake. You suddenly felt nervous, wondering if you should bring cake for dessert if you were the one making dinner. You didn’t even have any frosting, or icing, or decoration for it.

You shoved it in the fridge and decided that you’d buy cupcakes on the way in or something. In fact, you quickly searched to see if Muffet had an online site – you remember her offhandedly mentioning something about a bakery while you were struggling to order breakfast only that morning.

She did! With a number! You dialled it.

 _“Good afternoon, welcome to Muffet’s, Muffet speaking.”_ Her voice was curt and business-like. You wondered if she ever got prank calls or anything like that.

“Hi,” you began hesitantly, “it’s me.”

 _“Oh, darling!”_ her voice warmed immediately. _“Now how’d you get this number.”_

“Online,” you admitted. “I was hoping I could uh…I know it’s short notice and you don’t have to make any extra, but if I could ask you to set aside about a dozen or so cupcakes or the like for me and I can pop in, in a few hours to pick them up? I can pay now online if that helps.”

 _“Don’t you worry,”_ her voice was still warm and it made your lips twitch into a smile, even as you leaned into the counter. _“I’ve got you covered. A dozen cupcakes is easy. Anything else I can get you?”_

“That’s everything thanks.”

Muffet chattered pleasantly to you on the other side after she’d give you her account details. It meant you had to put her onto speakerphone so you could log in into your banking app, ignoring the numbers in favour of entering her details and wiring over the cost she told you when prompted.

“This is a big help,” you muttered, without thinking. “I tried to bake and it was…a disaster.”

 _“Now, now, we can’t have that.”_ Muffet laughed, but it wasn’t derisory, didn’t make you feel lesser in yourself. _“I’ve got some more numbers here for you. Have some paper? A pen?”_

You did as asked, unsure why. She slowly listed off a number that, you realised as it progressed, was for a mobile phone.

_“You ever get stuck on anything, you let me know.”_

“Muffet…” you began, feeling a little overwhelmed.

 _“Business is slow, and Red knows a good character,”_ Muffet said flatly to you. _“The chance to chat to someone who isn’t a skeleton would be wonderful; though if that’s me being selfish – “_

“Like friends?” you interrupted. There was silence on the other end and you wondered if you overstepped.

 _“If you like,”_ Muffet sounded it out slowly, as if scared of rejection. It would be a fickle friendship to begin with, sure, having only known her that morning. But you guessed if you kept associating with Red you’d see her again at some other point again.

And besides all that, the thought of having someone you could call a friend, who wasn’t forced to work with you due to expectations of being a co-worker, that was nice.

“I would,” you admitted, feeling almost shy.

Muffet sounded delighted when she replied.

_“That’s wonderful darling! Now, back to business if I may – when do you need these cupcakes by?”_

You glanced at the clock.

“In about an hour?”

_“I’ll see you then.”_

You exchanged pleasantries, and when she hung up you typed her personal number into your phone, shooting a quick message so she’d get your number in return.

You stared at the smiley face she sent you in return and wondered why you felt so nervous.

But now that was sorted, you could get yourself sorted. An hour was enough time for you to shower, quickly, and dry your hair, quickly. Clothes would be whatever you pulled out of your wardrobe first.

The nervousness reared and you went to rummage in your bedroom for nice clothes. A soft grey sweater-dress and a pair of black tights got thrown onto your bed. You had some flats that would go well with the set up.

Then you wondered why you cared how you looked. Apart from uniform and apart from the clothes that Red had stolen from Stretch for you, they hadn’t seen you in anything particularly fetching. You didn’t know why you wanted to dress up – but at the same time you also wanted to make a better impression.

The urge to phone and say you couldn’t make it hit you really hard. By the time you had dressed and smoothed out the already smooth dress you felt ridiculous. Like everyone, you liked to dress up nice every once in a while but…it didn’t really look your style.

Anyway, it was too late to second guess. If worst came to worst, you could pick up the cupcakes, bail out and go home to eat cake. All the cake. Every single last, delicious, spidery cupcake.

Speaking of, your phone buzzed with a message from the number you’d saved under ‘Muffet (Personal)’ saying that the cupcakes were done. Time to go.

It was creeping up for half past three. You had half an hour to get the cupcakes and get to the, quite frankly, ridiculous house in the Boulevard. For a few minutes, your thumb hovered over the call button for Red’s number as you tried to convince yourself you didn’t need to do this.

And then you remembered you’d offered to do this in _thanks._

Goddamn your morals. You’d always told yourself you’d be better than your past, the way you’d treated others and been treated. This was a step in that direction.

Grabbing a jacket, you threw it on and slipped the flats on, dropping your phone and wallet into one of your pockets.

Then you steeled your spine and readied yourself for war.

* * *

 

It was after you’d picked up the cupcakes, car idling on the curb outside of Red’s house that you realised you hadn’t called the landlord to set up to fix the window. You hadn’t looked for any other jobs. You knew your bank account was a little sad looking because you’d transferred money over to Muffet, so bills were out of the question.

The dashboard said it was three minutes until four. You turned the engine off, pocketed the keys, and grabbed the box of cupcakes by the handle.

Your heart was thumping, and you knew the anxiousness was lingering. You just felt tired now. Strung out.

You ascended the steps and knocked sharply on the door.

It opened to Blue again, like last time, eyes lit up in glee.

“YOU MADE IT!” he seemed to remember your aversion to being grabbed from earlier that day, and simply stepped aside in a silent invitation to let you in. “AND YOU BROUGHT CAKE!”

He’d recognised the box in your hand. Your lips lifted in a slight smile.

“I forgot to make dessert, so I had to buy some. Hope that isn’t a problem.”

“NOPE. MUFFET’S CAKES ARE THE BEST AFTER ALL!”

He led you down the hallways, despite the fact you’d been that same route not too long ago. When it came to the door of the kitchen, Blue hung back.

“EDGE WILL COMPLAIN IF I’M THERE. SAYS I ‘RUIN THE CULINARY EXPERIENCE’ SO I’LL HAVE TO LEAVE YOU NOW. SEE YOU AT DINNER!”

You must have made a face because Blue added.

“BUT DON’T WORRY! RED IS ALREADY THERE SO YOU WON’T BE – “ he tried to lower his voice theatrically, and failed, - “SO YOU WON’T BE STUCK WITH HIM BY YOURSELF.”

There was no doubt the two of them in the kitchen had heard him, but you kept your opinion to yourself when no one spoke from beyond the door.

Blue raised his hand as if to pat your arm and then immediately withdrew, almost wilting away. You felt he was showing a lot of restraint to not be overtly friendly and you changed the hand that was holding the cupcakes so you could pat him on the arm instead and murmur a quiet thanks.

He lit up and then was off down the corridor.

You knocked on the door and as if he’d been waiting behind it, Red whisked it open, grinning. He’d heard everything Blue had said.

“good to see ya,” he greeted, as if like Blue he hadn’t seen you earlier that day. “yer on time. boss likes that.”

“YES. PUNCTUALITY IS A GOOD TRAIT. I’M SURPRISED YOU HAVE ANY GOOD TRAITS.”

Edge was wearing an apron. You could tell by the ties knotted into a neat bow at his back, even when he was facing away from you. You were on your way to putting the cupcakes down when Edge whipped around.

He was holding a knife.

Your heart leapt into your throat, pounding away like a galloping horse as he stepped towards you, knife raised. You watched him stop moving just as quick, in tandem with the thud of the box of cupcakes hitting your feet, the cardboard popping open but not dispelling the cakes.

The impact made you flinch despite Edge no longer moving and you took a half step back, feeling like a cold sweat had broken along your skin. The finer scars on your fingers, barely visible and only hurting in the cold now, seemed to throb.

You’d caught a knife like that by the blade, once, only after it had plunged into your soft abdomen over a half dozen times.

The knife moved and the second flinch that wanted to roll down your spine was repressed as it clinked down on the countertop and left Edge’s hand.

“YOU THINK I’M GOING TO HURT YOU.” Edge had volume but sounded soft. He didn’t sound hurt, despite your presumptions of him.

You rubbed shaking hands down your dress, smoothing out smooth lines.

“Nah,” you managed to spit out, licking your lips compulsively. “I’m just no good with people pointing knives at me.” You should probably stop smoothing out your dress, but nausea was angrily churning in your gut.

“you okay?” Red asked, coming in close to your side, slowly. One of his hands closed over your wrist. The light in his left eye was like the dawn, a soft orange verging on blood red. When he caught you looking, the colour seemed to drain away. Both of his eyes glanced to your side.

“Sorry about the cakes,” you managed instead. You reached for the box at the same time as Red, both of you crouching together.

“not what i asked,” Red murmured softly, in your space.

“A girl not allowed to have her hang ups?” you asked, scooping up the box with a fine tremble to your fingers. The creases of your joints still softly ached. You resisted the urge to scratch at your fingers, dumping the box on the counter you’d been aiming for.

“IS THIS THE ‘INDEPENDENT HOT WOMAN VIBE’ THAT RED WAS ON ABOUT?” Edge interrupted. You weren’t sure if he was trying to lighten the mood but it had worked.

“Sure, why not.”

It was a ‘Kiss The Cook’ apron. The absurdity of it nearly made you want to laugh. Edge had long since moved to lounge on the other side of the kitchen, far, far from the knife.

You curled your hands together, thumb scrubbing at the palm of the other.

“Can I handle the dicing?” you asked. “Unless you were aiming on something different.”

There was a half-chopped onion on the chopping board, other ingredients neatly lined up beside the cooker.

“I SUPPOSE I WILL HAVE TO ACQUIESCE, AS I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO MAKE THIS HUMAN DISH OF ‘STIR-FRY’.”

“It’s literal,” you promised him idly, drawing your hair over one shoulder and wishing you’d brought a hair tie. “You stir the ingredients as they fry. Add some sauce. Let it simmer a bit.”

You slowly approached the counter and had a sudden aversion to touching the knife, feeling your mouth tug down as you stared at it, innocuously sitting on the countertop. The handle was cool and smooth when you finally found it in yourself to grab it, and then you approached the assortment of food piled on the side.

“couldn’t remember what you bought and what was ours,” Red offered. “so we dragged out all the likely candidates.”

“That _I_ bought, hmm?” you asked, and he gave a nervous, throaty laugh in return as you organised into two piles – needed, and unneeded. “Have you got a wok? Or a wide, deep pan, that will work too.”

Edge moved then, navigating the kitchen with an ease borne of practice. He set the pan he dug out on the counter. You fiddled with the cooker. It was fancier than yours, and the settings were different. The letters MTT branded it.

“HERE.” Edge said, leaning a hand on your shoulder. The weight of his palm made you wince a little at the sting of bruised skin underneath. You were surprised he’d even deigned to touch you to show you how it worked, twisting the knobs until the cooker began to click and one of the rings lit up with a soft flame.

When his hand and weight left your shoulder, it somehow no longer ached. You wonder if he’d done his magic mojo again, and if Red had put him up to it. You rolled your shoulder gingerly, before reaching for the oil and splashing a liberal amount of it into the pan, messing with the knob until it was on a lower heat to let the oil warm up.

Your dicing wasn’t much neater than Edge’s but your hands were still softly shaking and you felt put on the spot, aware of eyes watching your every move. When the onions were done, you left them on the board, dicing up a liberal amount of garlic as well. It joined the pile of onion and then both were dumped into the pan, sizzling almost immediately.

“Do you have any tissue?” you asked, putting the knife down so you could wash your hands of any onion residue. When you turned around for the dish towel you’d seen earlier so you could dry your hands, both Edge and Red flinched.

You blinked, feeling a tear roll down your left cheek and lifted a shoulder to rub your face into.

“are you okay?” Red asked again, softer, concerned.

“I’m sure I’m fine,” you promised, trying not to rub your stinging eyes despite your washed hands – onion juice couldn’t be trusted.

“YOU’RE LEAKING. HUMANS ONLY LEAK WHEN SOMETHING IS WRONG.”

“Oh!” You tried so hard not to laugh at the sudden realisation. “Oh, oh no, that’s all wrong. It’s the onions. When onions are chopped they release a chemical that can aggravate humans.”

“what the fuck.”

You shrugged, but Red obligingly went into a cupboard and pulled out an unopened packet of kitchen roll which you tore a piece from and dabbed at your eyes. After admitting it had been the onions that had made your eyes watery, the two of them seemed less fidgety.

It was probably the knife reaction. It’s always the knife reaction.

You carried on chopping vegetables, turning the wok down so the onions and garlic could cook without burning, still merrily sizzling. Edge came to hover over your other shoulder, hand resting like before to stare down at what you were doing.

You felt cornered, but you were the one with the knife in your hand. Like before, the sting and ache in your shoulder eased away the longer Edge leaned on you, before he started asking abrupt, sharp questions on what you were doing.

You answered as best as you could, short easy to interpret answers, occasionally pointing to what you were doing and stirring the steadily growing collection of ingredients that you segmented into bowls that Red helpfully provided.

The next part was the grossest part. You grimaced at the slimy texture of chicken, easing it onto the board carefully to prevent the juice going everywhere. Raw chicken breast. Yum.

“THAT IS THE MOST DISGUSTING THING I’VE EVER SEEN,” Edge declared, but still leaned in for a closer look.

“Don’t touch it,” you advised, “otherwise you’ll have to wash your hands afterwards. Raw chicken can cause all sorts of nasties.”

“AND YOU _EAT_ IT?”

“Not raw! Cooked chicken is fine. Raw chicken can cause food poisoning. Don’t ask why or how, I’m not a scientist or biologist or whatever.”

You proceeded to start slicing the chicken into rough slices, each one barely the width of your little finger, scraping each individual slice to the side until all the chicken was cut up into chunks and you could use the knife to push the pile into the wok, invoking another loud bout of sizzling.

Then you dumped the knife into the sink and scrubbed your hands until your skin turned pink and warm, making sure to use plenty of soap. Food poisoning was no fun. Then you automatically started to fill the sink with hot soapy water, ready for everything to be soaked and cleaned afterwards.

“Now it’s the stirring part.” You told Edge, looking into the pan and poking with the wooden spoon. The onions and garlic had caramelised nicely and as you turned the knob onto a higher heat, the chicken was already turning white in some places. You poked some pieces, flipping others so they all equally shared time on the hot pan surface.

“THEY’RE CHANGING COLOUR,” Edge noted.

“I take it you haven’t cooked much protein,” you muttered. “A lot of meat changes colour as you cook them. Leftover juices, blood, whatever. Some you can eat a little bit undercooked, but chicken has to be perfect.”

Edge nodded slowly, seeming to absorb every word that left you with a strange intensity. You wondered if he’d be taking notes if he could.

Eventually the chicken looked safe enough – stabbing a piece with the spoon hard enough to separate it into two showed the middle was no longer pink – so you started adding in the rest of the ingredients, bowls of other vegetables, an assortment of spices and a premade sauce you’d picked up at the store. Edge helpfully pulled out another pan to heat up when the first pan became a little overwhelmed.

It was when you were rolling up the sauce packet to bin it, you remembered you’d forgotten the noodles.

“Have you got any rice? I forgot to grab some noodles, so now there might not be enough for everyone.”

“what sort of noodles?” Red lifted himself from the table he’d sat at, the one he’d mockingly called a family table from before.

You dutifully brought out your cracked phone and input the image search, showing him. Red studied it, winked at you, and took a step back. Like in your house when he’d foisted his keys onto you, he disappeared.

“SHOW OFF,” Edge declared with a sniff. “IF ALL THAT IS LEFT IS TO ‘STIR’ AND ‘FRY’ THEN I CAN TAKE OVER.”

“I don’t mind finishing it off,” you offered.

“YOU ARE A GUEST. GIVING THANKS IN FOOD, YES, BUT A GUEST. BE THANKFUL I LET YOU HELP AT ALL.”

“Right…when Sans comes back with the noodles, they can just be mixed into the sauce with the rest of it and left to simmer until it’s all the same sort of temperature and all saturated.”

You sat at the table slowly, watching as Edge filtered around the kitchen. He started cleaning up the debris left behind and you felt a little guilty. He’d tell you if he needed help. While his back was to you, you stretched an arm curiously, bracing for the pain to burst in your shoulder. It didn’t.

“Thank you again,” you finally murmured into the quiet clattering of dishes. If Edge had heard you, he made in indication, but you were sure you saw his shoulders hunch softly, as if he were pleased and trying to hide it.

“noodles,” Red said into the silence not thirty seconds later, slapping two packets down onto the counter. You made to stand.

“YOU’VE ALREADY TOLD ME WHAT TO DO,” Edge said, huffily. “DON’T PUSH YOUR LUCK.”

You sat back down obediently. Red dragged a chair up besides yours, grinning.

“you’re lucky he let you go as far as you did. kitchen is a sacred place.”

“OF COURSE IT IS.” Edge tossed his head theatrically. It was almost amusing, and you let yourself smile.

“I was taught to be thankful,” you replied, demure, and folded your hands tight into your lap. “It was a lesson that stuck well.”

You know it sounded cryptic, that the words were double edged. Red gave you a look like he knew you were on to something he couldn’t quite understand.

“lets leave the boss to dish up,” he suggested. “he knows everyone’s portion sizes. we can round up the herd.”

When the door to the kitchen swung shut softly behind you, you asked, “Did you set Edge up to heal me while cooking?”

Red stumbled, comically, into a wall. You stopped, to let him catch up, but he was sweating, the lights in his eyes darting between you and the closed kitchen door.

“boss? healed you? on his own?”

“I think so.” You lifted a hand to your opposite shoulder, fingers curling over the ridge of bone to press into previously tender skin. The only ache was of the pressure you exerted. “I know so,” you amended.

“thought he was just bein’ intimidating,” Red admitted. “he does that sometimes. doesn’t know he’s doin’ it.”

You wonder what sort of life Edge had to go through to be subconsciously intimidating to every person he met, threat or no. Then you tried not to think about it, curling your fingers into your sleeves and tangling your arms loosely together like a Chinese finger trap but for your arms.

“you didn’t have to do this,” Red said into the silence as he led you down numerous hallways.

“I’m here now,” you shrugged. “And I offered. Be rude not to keep a promise.”

“we don’t expect these types of courtesies. just left us all feeling like fish out of water.” the unspoken ‘we don’t expect this of humans’ hung between you.

“I’ve had my fair share of jerks. Know not to make bad first impressions unless the other person makes them first.” You let your fingers tangle together in the safety of your sleeves. “And I know not to judge a book by its cover.”

“bet my cover was a bit of a shock.”

“Just a bit,” you agreed. “But I don’t want to make mistakes.” You side-eyed him. “I bet, by looking at me, you wouldn’t know I briefly had a criminal record.”

For the second time Red stumbled and he looked at you.

“for what, tax fraud? jaywalking?”

“Nothing quite so easy. Charges were dropped, and they decided it was self-defence, so you can take that as you want.”

“you _hurt_ someone?”

Your heart suddenly was very interested in the proceedings and you wondered why you’d opened your stupid mouth.

“Uh,” you stumbled over the words, feeling them stick in your throat.

This was someone, a monster, a skeleton, that you hardly knew past serving a few drinks. But he’d been nice enough to assuage your fears and stay with you overnight to keep those fears at bay.

You were scared at how he’d look at you knowing you’d killed someone.

“don’t worry,” Red suddenly said. “i get it. no need to explain yourself. shouldn’t pry.”

He was looking at something behind you, but you resisted the urge to turn. From what you’d noticed of them the past few days they liked to stare into space beside or behind you. Probably a thinking thing.

Unbeknownst to you, your stats blinked gently beside you, visible to Red’s eyes but not yours. The ‘LV 3’ pulsed gently above your health, an uneven ’37’ out of the ‘60’ it promised it could be. Red wondered where you were still hurting.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, freeing your hands to hold yourself as Red opened the door to a large living area.

“ITS YOU!”

Papyrus threw a controller to the side, lighting up at seeing you. On the TV screen the words ‘Game Over’ grew on the screen, along with ‘Try Again’ and ‘Quit’.

“bad luck bro,” Sans had caught the controller thrown at him.

“Good evening,” you greeted. “Dinner’s ready.”

“ _bone appetit,”_ Sans muttered.

The urge to throw something hit you suddenly. Red just sighed.

“at least use something original,” he muttered over Papyrus’ angry chastising. “he does this a lot,” he added, for your benefit.

But the two of them joined you and now you were following one skeleton and being followed by two.

“glad to see you looking better,” Sans said, coming up to your elbow. “less peaky. red didn’t say anything but it’s kinda obvious.”

You winced, trying not to look like you were hiding in yourself.

“don’t worry.” Sans winked. It made the worry worse. “i’ve seen the signs before, had the signs, all that good stuff.”

Sans didn’t look like a stiff breeze would knock him over. You wondered if that made you had hope to not be a complete absolute wreck.

You doubted it.

A girl could hope.

Papyrus stepped around you to speak with Red and they got into an animated argument of some sort. It looked like what Red and Stretch had but very, very subdued.

“Signs?” you found yourself asking.

“i know what a bad time looks like.”

That was ominous. But you had nothing to say to it, walking in silence until you were ushered into a seat at the table and feeling like an intruder once again, Red having managed to convince Papyrus to fetch Stretch and Blue.

When bodies surrounded you, and Edge placed a bowl of still steaming food in front of you, you wondered what on earth had possessed you to agree to do this in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate this chapter to a degree but whatever.


End file.
